Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
“You know, maybe I ought to be the one in charge,” Aulea says, reclining on the bed to stretch out her hindlegs and forelegs, smirking at Regis as she does. “If we’re putting a regency in place anyhow…”
“My love,” Regis says, lifting her hand and kissing it. “You’re already in charge.”
She laughs. “Maybe I want formal control,” she says mischievously. “You can be my Prince Consort, how do you like that?”
“Does that mean you can take afternoon court and I can – oh, wait, you attend afternoon court with me as it is,” Regis sighs dramatically as Aulea snorts. “For shame. And here I’d been imagining a life of leisure.”
“Fat chance,” she giggles. “But look on the bright side: I could shake all the hands and sign all the formal documents, while you could be in charge of hosting all the parties.”
“I’ve seen your parties,” Regis says dryly. “I’ll take the shaking and the signing.”
Aulea hums in agreement. “It’ll only be worse now that we’re making peace with Niflheim, you know. There’ll be food requests. Weird new customs to adjust to. Seating charts.”
“You’re not making this whole Prince Consort business sound very appealing, you know,” Regis tells her. “What must a ‘taur do to get a nice, stress-free position in this government?”
“Not be in government,” Aulea laughs. “For a start.”
“Think we can get Clarus to do it?”
“Regis!” Aulea smacks him lightly with a pillow.
“We are discussing a regency!” he laughs. “We could put anyone there – after all, I’ve abdicated! I’m an ex-king!”
“You know, I think you’ve already found what may be the one government position in which you don’t have to do anything. And yet here you are, giving it up.”
“I’ve clearly gone mad,” Regis says.
“Clearly,” Aulea agrees. “Which means, of course, that it’s only right for me to take the throne.”
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, catching her around the waist and pulling her closer. “I’m going to coup you and seize power from under your fingertips in order to put myself in as regent.”
“You monster!” she mock-gasps. “Stealing the power away from your only son!”
“Mmm,” he says, nuzzling her cheek. “You know, ever since the Ring was destroyed in that final confrontation with Ardyn, I’ve been feeling positively peppy – we could always see about fixing that ‘only’ business –”
“Why, Regis, you old tomcat–”
“I think that’ll do it,” Clarus says, putting his pen down and looking at the newest version of the peace treaty that he’s marked up with satisfaction. “We’re getting close to something that may even be sustainable.”
Cyrella snorts, flicking her tail in his direction. “Really, Clarus? Optimism?”
He shrugs. “It’s a new age. I don’t see why not.” He grins. “Besides, if they disagree, our armies are in a far more equitable posture at the moment, and with Tenebrae demanding actual independence in exchange for refereeing this agreement, even if they do pull a draft, we’ll have early notice of it.”
“There is that,” she says, smiling. “But a preliminary question: do you think they’ll sign it?”
“That may take a bit more doing,” he concedes.
“Well, if they don’t, I’ll hit them with the Sword of the Tall until they agree,” Cyrella says, sounding very pleased with the idea.
“Not very diplomatic of you,” Clarus says. “Also, shouldn’t you give that back at some point?”
“I don’t see why.”
“Cyrella.”
“Don’t you ‘Cyrella’ me,” she says, pointing at him. “I just helped save the world. The least I deserve for my active participation is a sword as long as I am tall that is absolutely badass.”
“You’re absolutely badass enough on your own, you know.”
“Thank you. Still not giving it back.”
Thinking to himself that it would be wiser to withdraw from this field of battle, at least for now, Clarus decides a change in subject is called for. “You know, when this is done and Regis is re-installed as monarch – or, at least, as regent until Noctis is appropriately of age –”
“Which, if we leave the choice up to Noctis, won’t happen until he’s at least forty,” Cyrella opines.
“…you’re not wrong. But as I was saying, when this is done, Reggie is going to be reigning over a peacetime kingdom for the first time in his life.”
“So?”
“So, my dear, that means he doesn’t exactly have much immediate use for his War Minister, does he?” Clarus asks, arching his eyebrows at her. “Or, for that matter, his Shield.”
“Clarus Amicitia,” she says. “Are you suggesting that we might take a vacation?”
“I am indeed,” he says.
“And what exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well,” he says, smirking. “You did seem like you liked the way I described Galahd…”
Her tail flicks again, this time with interest. “I did,” she says. “Gladio sounded like he liked it, too.”
Clarus arches his eyebrows at her. “Are we lacking for babysitters now? I was thinking we’d leave him here.”
“With who? Regis and Aulea are going to be thinking the same thing, you know; you so much as as hint at a vacation and they’ll sign up right alongside.”
“Yes, they will,” Clarus says patiently. “But you know who isn’t?”
“…Cor.”
“Cor,” he agrees.
“He’s going to kill you,” she predicts.
“Well,” Clarus says. “Luckily for me, my wife’s just come in to ownership of this sword – long as she is tall, I’ve heard it said – ‘absolutely badass,’ even –”
Cyrella laughs.
“I cannot believe you!” Libertus bellows. He’s gotten pretty good at it. “You were supposed to be at training! You were supposed to be leading training!”
“I’m sorry!” Nyx yelps. “I didn’t – I was just –”
“In the storage shed?!”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing!”
“With Aranea Highwind?!”
“Hey, I’m a member of the Crownsguard Aerial Corps,” Aranea says, flicking her tail smugly. “You have no authority over me.”
“And yet, oddly enough, you’re on the Kingsglaive training field right now,” Libertus says. “Besides, weren’t you going out on a date with his sister the other day?”
“…maybe.”
Libertus crosses his arms. “Stop screwing my lieutenants. Or else.”
Aranea crosses her arms. “Or else what?”
“Or he’ll hand you over to me,” Cor says mildly from behind her, causing both her and Nyx to jump into the air. “Or would you say I also don’t have authority over you, Crownsguard?”
“Um,” Aranea says.
“I have more pamphlets,” Cor adds cheerfully.
She turns pale.
“You seem to have gotten the idea behind the whole asexuality thing,” Cor muses. “But maybe a few on healthy sexual practices –”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Aranea says hastily. “Libertus, I accept whatever punishment you choose to bestow.”
“I thought I ‘had no authority’ over you?”
“I’m willing to put that aside!”
“Oh, one thing,” Cor says. “Before you impose punishment, Captain –”
Libertus winces.
Cor smirks.
“– I think you should consider expanding that punishment to three.” He reaches down with one forepaw and stamps on the ground.
There’s a yowl and Hemera leaps into the air, clutching her tail.
“You too?” Libertus howls.
“I wasn’t doing anything!” she signs quickly. “I came to argue with Nyx!”
“Over?”
“Well, see, I thought it was my turn, and he thought –”
“You’re all on punishment duty! Now!”
Luna’s having a pretty good day so far.
School’s let out early, she’s going to meet her girlfriend for a nice lunch, and – she’s never going to get over this – they’re not at war.
She has a delightful spring in her step as a result, kicking up her heels cheerfully as she trots along, turning the corner to go around the Kingsglaive training grounds – she likes taking that route, even if it is a bit longer, because it provides such delightful eye candy.
(Yes, she’s dating Cindy, but Cindy of all people understands the importance of some good eye candy.)
“Hey! Luna!”
Luna blinks and looks around when a new Kingsglaive trainee appears in front of her in a burst of warping.
Dark hair, dark eyes –
“Crowe? What’re you doing here?”
“They opened a junior wing for the Kingsglaive, since it’s still building up,” Crowe says, beaming at her. “We come here for the last few years of school and part-time with the Kingsglaive, getting us ready to join on the officer track. They’re hoping to expand.”
“That’s – great,” Luna croaks.
She hasn’t seen her in years.
Crowe’s grown.
She’s lean and dark and her eyes are flashing and her cheeks are flushed and her maned fox hindquarters are lean and sharp and –
Oh dear.
She’s very attractive.
Luna, you have a girlfriend, Luna reminds herself desperately. And Crowe is dating – uh –
“How’s your girlfriend?” Luna blurts out. “Back in Galahd?”
“No idea. We grew apart and ended up breaking up,” Crowe says cheerfully, totally unphased. “It happens. How about you? You seeing anyone?”
“Uh – yes – there’s this girl –”
“Heya, bambi girl!” a familiar voice trills out. “You ready for lunch?”
“Cindy!” Luna exclaims, relieved. Show, not tell; that will surely make this conversation easier.
Right?
Cindy hops over. “You were running late,” she says with a grin. “Oh – and who’s this?”
“Crowe Altius,” Crowe says, sticking out her hand, her eyes going a bit round in appreciation, which is pretty much everyone’s usual response to Cindy. “Nice to meet you.”
“Cindy Aurum,” Cindy purrs. She’s got a surprisingly good purr for a jackrabbit. “And darling, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”
Luna’s in trouble.
Good trouble, bad trouble, she’s not sure yet – but definitely trouble.
“You’re – you’re serious?” Ravus says, staring at his mother over the dining room table.
“That the ruler of Tenebrae has always been the Oracle is more tradition than any legal requirement,” Sylvia says, smiling at her son.
“Trust me, I’ve checked,” Scientia interjects. “At length. With some difficulty, because your libraries are still being reconstructed.”
“It’s unseemly to brag about doing your job,” Sylvia jibs back, rolling her eyes.
Scientia sniffs. “I didn’t have to take the job.”
“Why are you even here?” Sylvia complains. “I know we agreed to have joint family dinners, but Luna’s off on date night and the younger children are all sleeping over somewhere –”
“I always could go, you know,” Scientia says. “I’ll just be taking the food I brought with me.”
“You can stay,” Ravus says quickly.
“Ravus!”
“Sorry, Mom. But the food is really good.” He shrugs when she glares at him. “It is!”
“Well, yes, it is,” Sylvia concedes. “But we’re getting away from the point.”
“That you still owe me one?” Scientia coughs into her hand.
“One day you two will have to explain that,” Ravus says. “But first – you actually want – you want me to inherit the throne of Tenebrae?”
“You’re my eldest son,” Sylvia says. “And you love the blue hills of Tenebrae as much as I do. Luna – well, Luna’s young. She may yet grow into the role, but I don’t think so. Right now, she wants to explore, to travel – she wants to be a healer, not a queen, and she’d never have the patience for all of hard work of ruling a country. You do.”
“And you don’t – what I did –”
“You need to learn to forgive yourself,” Scientia says crisply. “Accept your failures, understand them, decide not to do them again, and move on.”
“Are you the one with experience ruling a country here or am I?” Sylvia asks acidly.
“Were you going to give him any other advice?”
“That isn’t the point –”
“What would I have to do?” Ravus interrupts, looking at his mother with wide eyes. “Going forward?”
“Not much different than what you do now,” Sylvia says. “You stand by my side, you watch and you learn – Tenebrae’s going to be independent now, and that’ll be a learning experience for both of us. You’ll have a lot more classes in a hundred different subjects – but you’ll have me to guide you through it. Is that something you want?”
“Yes,” Ravus says, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts. “Yes. I do.”
“All right, you’ve got the set up down, right?” Noctis says into his headset microphone, looking around him to confirm that everyone else on his side is set up, too.
Prompto gives him a thumbs-up and Gladio grins.
Ignis just stares at his screen, but that’s okay; he always does that right before they go in. Prompto likes to joke that he’s calibrating.
Noctis doesn’t really care, since whatever it is, it seems to work. Ignis is deadly.
“Yeah, we’re good, assuming your pathetic connections can keep up with ours,” the voice says over the headset, snotty and arrogant as always.
Ugh, Noctis can’t believe they’re friends with this jerk.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Loqi,” Gladio replies. “We’re gonna kick you and your friends’ hindquarters even with you Niffs tearing down all our towers to get yourself a leg up.”
“Yeah, right,” Loqi snorts. “You just want an excuse to explain how bad you’re going to lose.”
“You wish.”
“Enough chatter on the lines,” Ignis says, his voice dark and somehow incredibly intimidating. “Let’s get started.”
“What Iggy said,” Noctis adds, to help fill the cowed silence in the wake of Ignis’ declaration. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
“I’m just happy that they finally expanded this MMORPG to be cross-border,” Prompto says happily. His tail is wagging like mad, but then, he’s always been remarkably unaffected by Ignis’ unparalleled skill at trash talk. “It was getting boring just fighting Lucian teams all the time.”
“No kidding,” one of Loqi’s friends – Noctis doesn’t know her name, just her user handle – says. “The league in Niflheim has been dull as dust ever since Gralea basically dropped off the usenet for a while there.”
“Consider less censorship,” Gladio recommends.
“Says the people who weren’t allowed on the network at all for how long?”
“We were on a different network, moron.”
“I still think we should be allowed to bring in an electronic avatar version of the Kaiser Behemoth,” one of the other Niff kids says.
“You’re not allowed to,” Prompto says. “You just be glad we let you keep the Kaiser Behemoth. The real one, I mean.”
“The Kaiser Behemoth’s pretty awesome,” the Niff – presumably from Gralea – concedes.
Noctis decides to ignore them all and click on the loading screen. Everyone quiets down as soon as they see it, mentally planning their first moves once their avatars all get dropped into the same landscape – chosen at random, as is only fair.
The best part of this, he thinks happily, is that he can even tell his parents that he was ‘fostering a further relationship with peers in Niflheim’ or whatever they’re calling it nowadays.
The screen finishes loading.
“Glory to the empire!” Loqi shouts gleefully, his character leaping forward.
“Long live Lucis!” Gladio shoots back, his own character jumping up to intercept.
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Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
Regis knows that his wife, and sometimes his friends, think that he can be too soft: too quick to forgive, too generous to his enemies. He doesn't take offense. It's probably true. His is not the way of the Fierce, or the Conqueror, or even the pitiless Warrior of his forefathers.
For Regis, it has always been more important to have hope.
Hope is all that sustains him, some days – the days when he dwells upon the loss of his kingdom to the encroaching Niflheim threat, when he sees how cruel his beloved city can be to the refugees that wash up upon their shores, when he thinks about what 'taurkind could truly do to fight the daemon scourge that plagues them all if only they worked all together.
Hope that for all the evil in world, there too is light – that the light within the souls of people would win out over the darkness.
Not every time, perhaps. But once in a while.
Enough.
It is for that reason he gave the Kingsglaive the chance to defend the Citadel alone: hoping, by this measure of trust, to show that he did value them, that their contributions were worthwhile, that there was still some peace yet to be had if only they all worked towards it.
That not all of the stories that Drautos – if indeed he were in fact Glauca – had fed them were true.
He knew, of course, that he was taking a risk in making the offer; Clarus and Cor had pointed that out to him at great length. Aulea had spoken briefly against the idea, but had subsided quickly enough; she knows him well enough to know when he has made his final decision, and the reasons behind that decision, and she knows how important it is that his reign be one of mercy as well as justice.
Yes, if he had known that Niflheim would reach out to parley and negotiate a treaty now, of all times, he would not have made the offer. He does not so easily gamble with the lives of his people, whatever Drautos says, whatever accusations he makes – accusations so pointed and searing that Regis cannot tell if they are complaints truthfully meant or merely barbs designed to hurt. But to take back the offer once made would do worse than destroy what he sought to achieve: it would crush those of the Kingsglaive who were yet loyal, knowing that despite his words their King did not trust them.
There would be nothing left of the Kingsglaive if he did that.
So he did not revoke the offer.
Next, he hoped that, at the very least, they would not act against him: their captain gone, their plans gone awry, forced to act within the very heart of Insomnia rather than whatever plan they originally had. He hoped they would see reason, if nothing else, and abandon their treason still-born in its crib.
They did not.
Lastly, he hoped that what measures he had put in place to defend against the possibility of treason would minimize whatever damage they might inflict, and in that he still had reason to hope.
And yet –
Somehow, he did not think that they would attack each other.
Their comrades-in-arms, their brothers and sisters, their friends.
That's why he assigned the most perilous tasks – guarding the Crystal, guarding his own person – to Kingsglaive that he trusted personally, or who were recommended to him by those in whom he had faith. He thought, he hoped, that that would be enough - enough to safeguard his city, to safeguard his person, to cause those who wished them all ill to take a moment of pause before they acted.
It is not.
The Kingsglaive – or at least, some traitorous portion – have turned upon Lucis, and they spare no one at all.
Several of them were engaged in some form of sabotage of the Crystal and, upon seeing Regis and Aulea enter, decide that the time for secrecy is over; they warp – using his power – behind their comrades, daggers coming down.
Regis is too weak to stop them outright, the Ring draining his life more swiftly each year, but he can at least divert their blows: he lifts his own hand in return, summoning the great Armiger of his ancestors, and he sends it against the traitors, knocking them back.
He was never much of a fighter, no, not like Clarus or Cor; he relies too much on his magic and his shields, and he always has, enough to make him wonder what name they would call him once he was dead –
– but poor fighter or no, he still has some tricks up his sleeves.
He casts forth his Armiger once more.
The traitors are battered down by his weapons and hastily retreat, calling for aid.
"Hemera!" Nyx screams, the shock that kept him frozen breaking. He darts forward – one of the two Kingsglaive that was stabbed is his sister.
She clutches at her shoulder, blood streaming down her back to stain her pale wolf hindquarters, making terrible sounds of pain, but she nods at Nyx, making some signal with her fingers – deaf, of course; Regis has nearly forgotten, since all of the Kingsglaive tend to be rather overawed and silent in his presence.
Regis never learned LSL, a fact which he's regretting now.
Aulea produces a gun. "There are more coming; I can hear them," she says. "Shields up, my dear."
Regis raises shields around them all – just in time, as the Kingsglaive stream out of the Crystal chamber to surround them.
"Where did you hide that gun?" he asks Aulea. He didn't feel her summon it. "You're still in your court dress."
She smirks. "Darling, the gun was also in my court dress."
He does so love her, his fierce lioness.
There is a terrible cracking sound, like glass breaking, and it fills the room.
"What's that?" Pelna, the other injured Kingsglaive, gasps. Nyx is focusing on bandaging him first – Pelna was injured worse than Hemera, a wound deep in his side rather than the shoulder, and Regis suspects Hemera, who hovers by her brother's side, insisted.
"That is the Crystal," Regis says, and raises his eyes to the sky. He can see from where he stands that the Wall is beginning to crack in the sky, falling in shards of beautiful magical glass that dissolves even as it falls. Without the Crystal to focus his power, there is nothing he can do to maintain the Wall. "They have knocked it from its plinth."
"But that would –" Nyx begins, then stops, horrified.
"Yes," Regis says heavily. "The Wall has fallen. I expect Niflheim has already summoned its airships and is attempting to launch an attack on Insomnia as we speak. I have already called upon the Crownsguard to defend the city."
He’d sent the message in the elevator. He had to offer trust to the Kingsglaive, yes, but even trust only goes so far.
"Niflheim won't be able to bring too many MTs," Aulea says. "We would have spotted a full fleet. Our Crownsguard will likely be able to overwhelm them and repel their forces – there are procedures in place for an invasion. The only question is –"
She falls silent.
Regis turns.
Drautos is there.
He was supposed to be in the prison cells, guarded by Crownsguard – Regis almost hopes that they were bribed or corrupted, but he suspects they were not, and that they are now dead.
Perhaps that is why these Kingsglaive did not hesitate to raise their hands against their own, hands already stained with the blood of their fellow citizens.
Drautos is there, and stepping forward, his mighty sword at hand, his incredibly powerful hyena haunches flexing as he moves.
"Your Majesty," he drawls, and his voice is thick with sarcasm.
Nyx's head shoots up. "Captain," he says almost blankly. Then, to the donkey ‘taur at Drautos' right hand, "Luche." And to the coyote ‘taur on his left, almost a moan of pain, “Axis.”
They were his friends, these ‘taurs.
"You should've just listened to your orders, Nyx, instead of being a hero," Luche says with a heavy, disappointed sigh. "And maybe you would've made it."
"Sure," Nyx says, starting to get angry. "But Hemera, she would be dead, huh? And then you'd come and hunt me down like a trapped rat or something?"
"We would have given you both the chance to join us, instead," Drautos says, waving the one called Luche back. "You are from Galahd, which has not fallen, but you, too, know the agony of invasion – the pain of watching your family, your home, bear the brunt of the Empire and the daemons, while the King of Lucis sits safe and sound inside his precious wall, hoarding peace and tranquility for himself –"
Hemera stirs and makes another gesture with her hand.
"We never betrayed what truly mattered," Drautos says. "We have always been loyal to our homes – to our home and hearth –"
Regis feels Aulea's tail wrap around his, a comforting gesture, and – very delicately – squeeze twice.
"– to the Empire?" Nyx is shouting. He's acting as a remarkably good distraction, even though Regis believes him to be entirely in earnest. "It was the Empire that took your homes, not Lucis!"
"I cannot fault them for taking what was given," Drautos sneers. "A weak kingdom, a weak king, sacrificing the homes and sons of outsiders so that his precious city alone would prosper – the Empire was drawn in by the weakness of Lucis –"
"What the hell are you even talking about? This war has been going on for generations!" Nyx shouts. "No one king can have caused anything!"
"They took away the Wall!" Drautos roars. "It once extended far across the land, but they abandoned our people to the dark and the daemons –"
Regis finishes counting to five and abruptly drops the shields.
Aulea, who was naturally expecting it, fires at once.
Five shots, all but emptying her gun, and then Regis pulls the shields back up.
He has never been much of a fighter himself, no, but his loved ones have always been fierce enough so that he never noticed the lack.
As hoped, the attack took the traitors by surprise, leaving them no time to respond in kind – Luche ducks with automatic instinct, Aulea's bullet searing through the meat of his shoulder instead of lodging within it; Axis staggers backwards, slower to react and not nearly so lucky, the bullet striking true in his chest; and Drautos –
Drautos, at whom three bullets were aimed, simply changes, silver metal snaking all along his flesh until he is fully covered, into –
“General Glauca,” Regis says, his voice heavy. He had dearly hoped that it wasn’t true. Scientia found evidence of treason, yes, of fomenting rebellion underneath the nose of the Citadel itself, and she thought that the evidence suggested that Drautos was Glauca – the timing of their appearances; analysis of their fighting styles; Glauca’s reluctance to fight Cor, who had beaten Drautos in a one-on-one – but Regis hoped…
“You - you - you fuckwad!” Nyx shouts. “You absolute dickhead!”
Aulea grins. “Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” she murmurs. “Perhaps slightly less than perfectly diplomatic – but understandable, given his tender age. And anyway, who needs diplomacy in battle?”
“I fight for my people,” Glauca says to Nyx, his echoing voice twisted enough to be unrecognizable as Drautos’ own. “You protect a weakened king and a dying kingdom – and for what?”
“It’s called ‘not wanting the Empire to take over the world, unleashing daemons left and right’,” Nyx snaps. “Every single crime you hold against Lucis was committed by Niflheim, by the people you are fighting to help, you – you plant!”
Aulea sniggers.
Everyone glances at her.
“What?” she says. “It’s funny. Plant as in vegetation, or plant as in undercover spy – okay, I’m ruining the joke.”
Hemera signs something Regis can’t understand, then gives a thumbs up. He assumes that means she agrees that the statement was funny.
Glauca shakes his helmeted head – just the way Drautos does when he doesn’t understand how someone could ruin the moment like that, though it's usually Cor who enjoys puncturing solemnity rather than Aulea.
Cor –
Cor is away now, unable to help; he is with the group seeking to obtain a Covenant with the Archean. Regis can only hope that they succeed.
At least Noctis is away, and safe.
Regis trusted Drautos with the information about his precious Noctis, about the Prophecy, about how important his mission was for the sake of all the world, and Drautos betrayed him regardless. Forewarned or no, that betrayal still stings sharp.
“Enough of this,” Glauca says. “You hide behind your shield, king, displaying your weakness once again – enough! Come out and face us.”
Nyx tenses into a fighting stance, pulling out his daggers; even Hemera staggers to her paws, though she’s listing very badly to one side. Pelna cannot rise at all, his hindquarters wet with blood, his tail hanging limp, and his face gone pale.
Regis looks at Glauca right where his eyes would be.
“No,” he says.
“What do you mean, no?” Luche demands.
“I refuse to fight you upon your chosen ground,” Regis says calmly. He lifts his hand and additional shields spring up, these ones lining the walls around the chamber of the Crystal. “My wife accurately analyzed the situation: Niflheim is far, and there are only so many ships they could bring close enough to be of service to them now, and in those ships, only so many MTs. We, on the other hand, have the full might of the Crownsguard with us to defend the city, a Crownsguard filled with many more ‘taurs than are in your corrupted Kingsglaive. They will succeed in repelling the Niflheim attack, in time. The only uncertain element that might have tipped the balance was where you were, General – and now that we know that, you are going nowhere.”
Regis cannot see Glauca’s expression, but he can see Luche’s – the smug sneer of superiority dropping off his face; the realization, perhaps belatedly, that shields are not only good for keeping attacks out, but also keeping people in.
“Wait, what?” Nyx says. “Our plan is just – what? To wait?”
“With the Wall itself down, I can keep these shields up for a very long time,” Regis confirms. “There are more Crownsguard and, I hope, loyal Kingsglaive such as yourself, than there are traitors. They will repel the Niflheim forces, and then they will come here and arrest these traitors, bringing them to justice.”
“The Crownsguard has detached a division to detain the Emperor of Niflheim as we speak,” Aulea says, looking at Glauca. “If all you care about is your home, Drautos, then surely you do not object to such a measure. Unless you are indeed loyal to Niflheim first and foremost..?”
“The Empire’s nothing more than our ticket out of this situation,” Luche snaps, though the whites of his eyes are showing. He’s afraid. He’s little more than a boy, and Regis pities him – but he’s made his choice. There’s no turning back now, not with murder on his conscience. “It means crap all to us.”
Glauca is silent for a long moment. Regis wonders what he’s thinking – wonders if Aulea’s jab flew true, wonder whether Glauca is truly loyal only to his homeland, thinking he is doing the right thing by allying with the empire, or whether Glauca is by now no more than Niflheim’s dog.
Sadly, Regis doubts he’ll ever get a satisfactory answer to that question.
“It does not matter,” Glauca finally says. “We will escape your little prison.”
He lifts his sword and brings it down hard on the shields, clearly seeking a weak point. They exist, of course, and as the captain of the Kingsglaive, trained in the use of the King's magic, he would know all about how to find it.
But they have made one mistake: they took down the Wall first. The greatest part of Regis’ magic, of his life and soul, was poured into that Wall, every day, and with that drain gone, it is his to wield once more.
These shields will not break.
Glauca continues to try, though, and Luche and several of the other Kingsglaive pull out their daggers, drawing their hands back to cast lighting or fire –
Nothing happens.
“What…?” a rabbit 'taur which Regis believes is named Tredd asks, staring at his hand in surprise. “But the King is still alive – we should still have magic!”
“The magic is my magic,” Regis says harshly. “And I, and I alone, choose to whom it is gifted – and it is a gift I can recall.”
“Again you hide,” Glauca sneers, “while others die.”
“It is by taking this action that I protect as many people as I can,” Regis says. “To the best of my ability. Even if it means I cannot fight in person. Say what you will, Glauca; it will not move me.”
Glauca spins and stalks away, going to confer with the other Kingsglaive.
“I’m not sure I like this plan,” Nyx says, dropping his fighting stance and returning his daggers to their sheaths.
“Not heroic enough for your taste?” Aulea asks, smiling a little. “These things rarely are, particularly when you have to worry about so many people. The perilous joys of being royalty, I'm sad to say; we have to think of the bigger picture. And, sadly, keeping Glauca and the others contained is more important that appeasing our own desire to smack him in his stupid face.”
Nyx barks out a laugh.
“Come,” she continues, “let us see what we can do for young Pelna.”
Hemera limps over to Regis and salutes.
He smiles at her. "I'm sorry, my dear; I would call for medical assistance for the two of you, but..."
She shakes her head firmly and signs something.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
She shrugs, clearly accustomed to that. She salutes again. He takes that to mean that she understands why he cannot put the shields down, and that she still supports him.
"Can you shield just them in?" Nyx asks, peering at the shield. "Then we move out?"
"Unfortunately, they would have to stay in one place for that," Regis says, watching the corrupt Kingsglaive mill around, hitting the shields with their weapons in a vain attempt to weaken them. "We also don't know what further forces they are in contact with. Putting shields up and down is more draining than keeping them up, and I don't know how long we will be required to keep them up. Far better to stay in our current position. Unless Pelna requires immediate medical attention...?"
"No, sir," Pelna says before anyone else can say anything. "I'll be okay, sir. Don't you put them down for my sake."
Regis accedes to his request, though he worries – the side is a very delicate area, near the intestines, and too much of a delay might lead to sepsis. But the plan is still valid, injury or no, and at least Pelna’s willful pretense of good health is enough to let Regis deceive himself into hoping that perhaps they will be able to avoid any more casualties.
"They're planning something," his sharp-eyed people-wise Aulea says, watching the traitors talking with each other. "Keep your guard up, all of you – if they find a way to break the shield, we will be vulnerable."
The three Kingsglaive all nod.
And so they wait, stuck at an impasse.
It is, sadly, a state Regis is very familiar with from this long and endless war.
After what must be nearly an hour, if not more, there's a sound in the hallway.
Regis and Aulea exchange looks of concern.
"Not Crownsguard?" Nyx asks in a low voice, catching it.
"The Crownsguard had orders to secure the city and to stop the Niflheim invasion first, should the Wall fall," Aulea replies, "and only after they finish that should they turn to restoring the Crystal. I find it unlikely that it is our forces coming up the stairs – more likely our enemy's companions, here to assist with the problem of the shield."
Nyx nods his understanding, murmuring something that sounds not unlike "they deserve the stairs", and goes back to watching the other Kingsglaive.
He's memorizing their faces, Regis thinks; he wants to know who betrayed him.
Regis would tell him that such exercises will only lead to heartache, but he knows well that words cannot help heal the wound of a betrayal such as this.
Sure enough, the sounds from the stairs resolve themselves into more Kingsglaive – not including Nyx and Hemera's good friend Libertus, Regis notes, and hopes that the honest bear 'taur yet lives – and with them, held in their grip, they have –
"Clarus!" Regis exclaims.
Clarus is hurt, and badly – his face is bruised, his eyes blackened; his striped orange hide wet with blood and the oily miasma characteristic of MTs. He is not walking, but being dragged.
He hears the others around him, reacting in their own way, but he only has eyes for his Shield.
His oldest friend.
There's no way the MTs managed this alone, for Regis knows that Clarus would have been surrounded by Crownsguard – and yet – if Clarus has fallen - then the city –
Clarus signals roughly with one of his dangling forepaws, not using his hands to avoid notice.
Stop. City. Safe.
The city is secure. Then how did they get to Clarus?
"You are very good at hiding behind your shields and walls while others die," Glauca says. "Let's see how well you do when it is your friends who are dying."
He lifts his sword and puts it to Clarus' neck.
Regis opens his mouth to say – he doesn't know what, for there is nothing he can say, nothing he can do -
There is a terrible sound, then, from just outside the windows, a sound familiar to anyone who has been beyond the Wall.
The sound of the terrors of the night.
Daemons.
"And those are the daemon carrier ships unleashing their weapons upon your city," Glauca says. He sounds satisfied, the monster; he does not care about the civilian lives that will be destroyed. "Even better. You will watch as your friend dies by my sword, King, even as the daemons come right into your city of tranquility, bringing death in their wake –"
Another sound.
Glauca frowns, clearly not recognizing it.
Regis can't entirely blame him. It sounds like – thunder?
But the sky was clear, last he checked.
"Holy crap," Pelna, who was lying slouched by the small window, suddenly says, his eyes wide. "Ramuh's fucking wings...!"
"What is it?" Aulea asks. She puts her forepaw on Regis' own, warning him against impulsive acts. She herself would use her hand for the gesture, but she has her now-reloaded gun aimed firmly at the enemy.
"Ulric," Regis croaks, gesturing with his head to the window, wanting a report. He can't take his eyes off of Clarus' steady gaze.
The one that says 'Let me go'. That says 'my life is not worth dropping your shield'.
That says – 'my life is your shield'.
But Clarus is his oldest friend, his friend from the crib, from when they were no more than kittens themselves. He was the only one who stayed by his side: when Cid decamped to Hammerhead after an argument, when old Weskham stayed on in Altissia, when Cor the kitten, their late arrival, grew up. He is the only one who understands Regis' mind the way no one else does, not even Aulea.
A King must make sacrifices. Regis knows that maxim far, far too well. It was to save as many people as possible that he retreated into Insomnia after his father's death and their terrible defeat, knowing that it was only that retreat that encouraged Niflheim to slow down its plans of conquest – that painful retreat and the withdrawing of the Wall some years later that brought about their tenuous ceasefire, however temporary, and gave a pause from the horrors of war to the lands of his people so that they could try to rebuild.
It was for his people that he stayed behind the Wall and did not start a fight he knew he would lose.
And it is for his people that he will stay behind his shields now.
As a king, Regis must love his people. As a 'taur, there are times he finds that he hates them.
"Ramuh's wings!" Nyx exclaims.
"What is it?" Aulea snaps.
"No – you don't understand – it really is Ramuh's wings. He's manifesting!"
"He's what?" Regis says, and many other people in the room exclaim something similar as well. They all move towards the window at once to go look, each on their own side of the magic shield wall; even Glauca goes, pulling his sword away from Clarus to do so – a moment's respite, nothing more, Regis knows.
They go to look and they see –
Noctis.
Noctis, standing in the open doorway of a Niflheim cruiser that hovers right above the center of his city, Gladio at one side, Ignis at the other, Luna and Prompto at his back, his hands thrown up into the air as if he were summoning the storm itself.
And above Noctis' hands, there is Ramuh himself, gathering in the air above them all, his thousands of birds coming together into his gigantic form.
And below him –
"Titan," Regis breathes, even as the others around him curse.
Titan himself manifesting his far-flung form, which he has not done in years, in generations, the mighty bull of the land rearing up and bringing his terrible hooves down, down –
Down upon the daemons unleashed by Niflheim.
Ramuh throws his great staff, thunder and lightning both, and he hits the daemons, too, a fiery blaze that blackens and consumes them even as the massive creatures of dust and darkness turn to flee.
And before the unstoppable might of the Astrals, the daemons fall. No matter their size, no matter their fearsomeness, this is one battle they cannot win.
Seeing this, the airships of Niflheim scatter and turn to flee.
"No!" Glauca roars, lifting his gauntleted hand in a fist of rage.
Noctis and his ship are moving now, turning and heading straight to the Crystal, Regis notes almost absently. Straight towards them.
"Betrayed again, Glauca?" Aulea asks, her voice poisonous. "It is almost as though the mighty Empire doesn't actually care about refugees fighting for their home, just the way you accuse us of doing."
Glauca strikes out at her in his fury, but for all the might of his sword, Regis' shield holds. His traitorous Kingsglaive mill around him like frightened geese, panic in their eyes, realizing, perhaps for the first time, that this is a battle they might lose – and that there is a price to be paid for treason.
"You may have won the day, cowards," he snarls, spitting mad. "But you have lost, too – I will see to it that you lose –"
He turns back to Clarus, whose calm has not been moved, and he lifts his sword up high.
"Regis!" Aulea shouts. "Drop the shields now!"
He doesn't know why she is suggesting this – it is contrary to their agreed-upon plan of remaining behind the shields – but Regis loves his wife and more than that: he trusts her.
He drops the shields.
And then, through the highest pane of the great window far up above them, there is the shattering of glass as someone leaps through it and down to them, landing right before Glauca.
Someone with sword drawn and teeth bared.
Someone whom Glauca has never faced in open battle – someone whom Drautos has never defeated –
Cor.
The Immortal.
“Hey there, Glauca,” the finest warrior of Lucis says with a smile. “I’m here to kick your ass.”
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
So, it turns out their prince is in another castle.
Prompto snorts a little, but he doesn't share the joke – all the adults look very grim and unhappy, but maybe that's just because they're all squished together in a very small airship.
"Sorry, folks," the badger 'taur driving the ship, whose name is Biggs (or was it Wedge?), says for the fourth time. "If we'd'a known that we'd need to take guests all secret-like, we'd've booked a bigger plane for a maintenance flight, but..."
"It's fine," Nyx says, but his voice is a bit strained. Hemera is sitting on him; it was the only way to fit them all in. Prompto's sitting on Cor's back as well, but he's small and light in comparison.
"Is it much further?"
"Not to worry, guv," the other 'taur, a weasel named Wedge (or is it Biggs?), says. "It's not much more."
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
"It's still not much more," Wedge says. "In comparison with most flights –"
Hemera bangs her head down on Nyx's shoulder.
Aranea, who is sitting in the captain's seat, snickers. "Stop whining," she says. "It's much worse on the bigger ships – they stuff even more people into even smaller spaces. Just imagine shoving your hindquarters into a tube –"
"Please stop describing it," Nyx says.
Prompto giggles.
"See, the kid's cool," Aranea says.
Prompto beams at her. Maybe she's not as mean as she originally tried to come off as. Most people aren't, really.
"Now, you listen to me –" Nyx starts to say, scowling.
"Yeah, Kingsglaive?" Aranea interrupts to ask, leaning forward with a smirk. "You got something to say?"
"You bet I –"
"We're here!" Biggs the badger announces.
"Thank the Six," Hemera signs. "Me and Nyx, we're still close, but maybe not this close."
"Pity," Aranea murmurs.
For some reason, both Hemera and Nyx turn red.
"Let's go, Prompto," Cor says. "There's some questions I'd rather you not start asking yet."
Prompto frowns. "What type of questions?"
"Why don't you ask Commodore Highwind?" Cor asks. He has that voice he gets when he's finding something funny but has no intention of sharing the joke.
Prompto turns to Aranea, who for some reason has also turned red now, and asks, "Commodore Highwind, what type of –"
"I have no idea what he means," she says very quickly, which means she probably does know but doesn’t want to share. "And I've already told you, call me Aranea. Now let's go – we need to find Ravus, and quickly. Biggs and Wedge will only be able to stay for an hour or so, and if we can time our departure for the same moment, it'll cover our tracks."
"We're not flying out?" Hemera asks.
"No space, for one thing," Wedge the weasel says. "And they check the airships, you know – we'd never be able to outrun them in an old creaker like this –"
"If we leave at the same time, they'll assume Ravus is on the airship and go the wrong way to start with, thereby giving us more of a head start," Cor says. "I understand. We'll try to keep this quick."
Aranea gives him an impressed look.
Prompto is very familiar with that type of impressed look being aimed at Cor.
He sighs a little and hopes for Cor's sake that she's going to be one of the ones that is just too overwhelmed or intimidated to do anything about her crush, but he suspects Cor's not going to be that lucky. He rarely is.
They land somewhere up the big mountain. The snow is everywhere, very thick and packed down, and it makes everything very quiet. There's a big building built into the mountain itself – at first Prompto thinks it's very small, just a shack, but then they open the door to the shack and it's just stairs leading down into a larger complex.
"Prince Ravus is here?" Nyx asks, sounding skeptical. "Why?"
"Because it's secure," Aranea says. "And because he started protesting after he saw some of the laboratories in the Floating Palace. They got annoyed, I think, and decided to send him here – this is the main experimental laboratory. Verstael Besithia’s little home away from home."
"Is Besithia likely to be here?"
"Unfortunately for us," Aranea says, "he's here whenever he's not at court. But we can try to avoid him if we move quietly."
Prompto knows a hint when he hears one.
They move quietly.
There's a lot of laboratory equipment everywhere, but almost no people, and once they put on these big sweeping white cloaks, long protective booties (there's even one for your tail!) and face-masks, no one so much as looks at them because everyone looks more or less the same, no matter what their hindquarters are.
If it wasn't so creepy, Prompto would think that this would make a marvelous guess-who-I-am masquerade at school back home.
Prompto wishes he could get a look at the equipment - maybe take a picture? He's learning photography in art class and he really likes it – but Cor made him walk in the middle of the group, surrounded by adults, and he can barely see anything.
"In here," Aranea says, and leads them through a door.
Prompto crouches down low to try to catch a peep of Prince Ravus. He's seen pictures of him on Luna's wall or during her weekly calls home, of course – tall and gangly and silver-haired, with the hindquarters of an elk like his mother and a scattering of acne just starting to fade on his face. In the pictures or the call screen, though, he usually looks angry or arrogant or condescending about something; he doesn't look like that now.
He looks upset. Maybe even scared.
Prompto feels a sudden stab of sympathy for him. He'd be scared if he didn't have Cor with him to take care of him, and sure, maybe Ravus was rude and sometimes made Luna cry, maybe he'd been really dumb and gone along with Niflheim for a bit for some reason, but he's only a few years older than Luna, just a kid, and he's scared of something and all alone.
"Prince Ravus," Cor says.
Ravus turns to them, his hindquarters all bunched up with stress. "The Immortal," he says, sounding bleak. "I'm surprised that King Regis could spare you."
"Your mother asked," Cor says, his voice dry. "For some reason, she rather wants you back."
For some reason, that breaks Ravus completely. He puts his head into his hands and all four legs sag with tiredness. "My mother –" he chokes. "Oh, mother – what would she think of me now –"
"What happened?" Aranea says sharply. "You weren't this bad off when I left –"
"They told me they would let me save them," he says mutely. He's not even looking at Aranea, and Prompto's pretty sure he's not answering her questions. "Save mother, save Luna – there was no way to win, of course, it was nothing but destruction ahead – it was inevitable – but I could save them, at least; they would give me the power to do that – they lied –"
"Niflheim does that," Nyx says. His voice is cold. "Funny how it's a bad idea to trust the people destroying your country."
"You don't understand," Ravus says, looking not at him, but at Cor. "I thought – King Regis took my sister. She was only ten, and he wanted to use her –"
"To save the world," Nyx snaps, taking a step forward, only for Hemera to put a paw on his, remind him not to do anything rash. Even Prompto’s not too young to realize that Nyx isn’t really angry at Ravus, but that he’s just angry at anything that reminds him of Drautos.
"I thought I could save her," Ravus says. "I thought I could play Niflheim's game and take their power and use it to bring Luna home. King Regis filled my mother's head with stupid stories, with lies, so that she wouldn’t use her own power to bring Luna back and I thought, why not get my own power and do it myself? But Niflheim's worse – so much worse than I ever thought –"
"What's happened?" Cor asks, glancing at Aranea. "What did they do?"
Ravus clutches at his shoulder. "They – the magitek – I asked too many questions when I found the sick ‘taurs in their laboratories – they brought me here and took me around, they showed me it, all of it – and when I told them how monstrous it was, when I told them I wouldn't stand for it – then – then – they injected me –"
"They what?!" Aranea exclaims, her face going white. Nyx and Hemera both take a step back, almost automatically, their eyes going wide.
Prompto frowns. He's not sure what they're talking about.
"I can't leave," Ravus whispers. "They gave it to me, what they give to their soldiers; I can't leave, I can't go home – I can never go home – you don't understand: it's a new strain. They’re the only ones who can slow the process, not even Mother’s healing can affect it –"
Prompto reaches out and tugs on Cor's hand. "What's going on?"
Cor looks at him sharply. "Nyx, Hemera, take Prompto out of here. I need to question Ravus about what happened, about what he's seen, and I don't want Prompto hearing."
"But –" Prompto starts. He doesn't think that's very fair.
"We'll do it," Hemera signs, and grabs Prompto's hand. Between her and Nyx, they usher Prompto out of the room so efficiently that he doesn't even get another word out.
"It's not fair," Prompto grumbles. "Isn't it safer for me to be in there with everyone else rather than out here?"
"We'll protect you," Hemera signs. She looks like she’s feeling sick for some reason. "Better that you not be in there."
"But –"
"Why don't we explore a bit?" Nyx says quickly. "Maybe we'll find something interesting and important. We are at a top-secret Niff lab, after all; it'd only make sense for us to find something cool and possibly even very dangerous."
That cheers Prompto up a bit.
Unfortunately, the majority of the laboratory is deserted and actually really boring – lots of machines with flickering lights and some computers that they can't access and various weird pieces of equipment.
Other than the bleeps and bloops of the machines, there isn't even any sound. It's all muffled by the mountain and the snow.
Except –
“What’s that?” Prompto asks, trotting forward. “It sounds like howling.”
“Probably the wind,” Nyx says. “Don’t go so far ahead, Prompto –”
Feeling contrary, Prompto speeds up abruptly. He’s not much of a sprinter – not much of a runner at all, really, even though he's finally started shedding the last of his puppy fat – but Nyx and Hemera aren’t really expecting it and he manages to get pretty far down the hallway before they realize they should be chasing him.
There’s a door there with no window, made of steel and all marked up in red lights and warning labels, and there’s a little scanner on the side.
The scanner looks an awful lot like the one from the ship Cor flew them home on during the Archead.
“It’s locked, Prompto,” Nyx says, catching up quickly. “We can’t get –”
His voice trails off when Prompto puts his wrist by the scanner and the entire door starts going from red to green.
“Skeleton key,” Prompto says with satisfaction, glancing back at the Ulric twins to bask in their dumbfounded expressions. “I was born in Niflheim, didn’t you know? When I was a kitling. And they gave me this wrist tattoo and it’s real cool ‘cause it means I can get through all of their security –”
Hemera catches his hand and looks at it.
“Nyx,” she signs. “This is a barcode. Like –”
She stops.
“Yeah, must be,” Nyx says grimly. “Fuck, I wish I never got that Niflheim briefing.”
Ugh, Prompto hates it when they go all twin-talk like this.
He does take advantage of their distraction to pull open the door and dart inside, where he finds the source of the howling.
“Uh,” he says, staring blankly all around him. It’s a giant room, absolutely giant, and one wall is a big old metal construct, something like an MT's armor but much more massive, taking up the whole wall, and the other wall is absolutely filled with puppies, canidaetaur kids like him, ranging from tiny kitlings to kids a year or two older than him. Except, unlike him, they’re all in tiny little cages, barely big enough for them to do a full turn around in, and each one of them has a tube attached to them – something like an IV. And they’re all staring right back at him, their howling stopped cold. “Hi?”
They just stare.
Nyx and Hemera come in after him.
Hemera’s hands jump up to cover her mouth.
“What the fuck,” Nyx says. “Ifrit’s flaming hooves, what the fuck.”
The puppies don’t look at them, though. They’re still looking at Prompto.
Prompto tries on a smile. His teacher at school says you can never go wrong with a nice smile.
“My name’s Prompto,” he says. “How about you?”
“So we, uh, might have a problem,” Nyx says. “With leaving.”
“You were gone for fifteen minutes, hero,” Aranea says, scowling at him, even as Ravus starts to look terrified. “How did you screw this up already? Did someone see you?”
“No alarms went off,” Cor points out, calm and in control as always, which Nyx really appreciates right now. “Ulric First, report. What’s the problem?”
“We found the kitlings,” Nyx says. “The, uh…current batch.”
Cor’s face goes hard.
Nyx isn’t really surprised. The briefing they got before they came to Niflheim had lots of top-secret information in it, and part of it involved what’d been recovered on prior missions regarding kitlings and MTs – real nightmare fuel – and based on Prompto having that barcode on his wrist and Cor’s extremely famous multi-year battle to legally adopt him, Nyx is willing to bet that the person who originally located the information (and Prompto) was Cor.
He’s also willing to bet that the infamously increasingly-difficult-to-draw-out-but-if-you-do-it’s-time-to-run-away-screaming temper of the Marshal of the Crownsguard is about to make an appearance over it.
“There’s a lot of them,” he adds, resisting the urge to wring his hands. “Like – a lot. Dozens and dozens and dozens –”
“Hold up,” Aranea says, looking between them. “What’s this about kitlings? What does ‘current batch’ mean?”
“We just had a discussion about how the Empire uses people infected with Starscourge to create their magitek infantry,” Cor says flatly. “Put the rest together yourself.”
Aranea looks sick, which raises Nyx’s opinion of her. She plays it tough, but she cares.
“So, the plan…?”
“Show me the kids,” Cor instructs.
Nyx is so happy that he has his boss along. He’s sure that one day he’ll be in charge of his own squadron, and when that day comes he’ll have to make the hard calls himself – calls like deciding how much risk they’re willing to take to potentially imperil their “rescue Ravus” primary mission if they try to free the kids as a secondary mission, and he doesn’t know how he’d make that choice or what he’d choose – but thank the Six today is not that day.
He takes Cor and the others to the room with the kids. Hemera and Prompto are already busily opening the cages and detatching the kids from the IVs – honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to any of them to go get Cor until they’d already started, and by that point they had to keep going – and the newly freed kitlings (puppies all) are wandering around the room on shaky legs, like they're puppies far younger than they are. They’re smiling and yipping and wagging their tails like just being out of the cages is a brand new experience for them.
Nyx’s heart hurts.
There’s got to be a way to save them.
Nyx looks at Cor to try to gauge his reaction.
But Cor isn’t looking at the kids. He’s looking at the other wall.
“What is it?” Nyx asks, glancing at it. It’s scaled, almost armor-like – similar to an MT’s hindquarters, really. He hasn’t been paying much attention to it; the kids have been rather distracting.
“Trouble,” Cor says grimly.
“It’s MT armor,” Aranea says, frowning at it. “Why is it on a wall?”
“Because it’s not a wall,” Cor says. “It’s a tunnel.”
They all turn to look at him, all the adults, even Hemera who’s been keeping an eye on them even while she opens cages. Prompto, luckily, is focused on running down the hallway, opening as many cages as he can.
Cor only has eyes for the wall. Tunnel?
“I don’t understand,” Nyx says. Everyone else looks relieved that he said it first. “What do you mean?”
“All these puppies,” Cor says. “They’re not here for the MT process. This is an experimental laboratory; they already have the regular process down pat.” He nods at the wall. “They’re here to power this.”
“To – power it?” Nyx says. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Project Immortalis,” Ravus croaks. His face is white. “Verstael Besithia – he was talking about something called Immortalis. A suitably glorious form to carry the soul of a ‘taur into a higher plane of existence...his next step towards divinity, he called it…”
“He’s planning on putting himself through the MT process?” Hemera signs, coming over to them. Her eyes are wide. “Why?”
“He thinks MTs are superior to regular ‘taurs,” Ravus says in response, much to Nyx’s surprise; he hadn’t realized the spoiled princeling knew LSL. “He’s – if he’s not mad yet, then he will be. This is just the beginning. He says it’ll take at least a year to fully complete, says that if only he’d gotten the idea earlier, he would’ve been further along in the process – he says that someone, he calls him ‘that bastard’ without any details, he says that that someone didn’t share the idea with him until recently, and he’s been working on building it ever since.”
“He’s feeding it,” Cor says. “He’s building some massive creature, scale by armored scale, and underneath all that armor is flesh, just the way it is for the MTs.”
And the source of that flesh...
Cor nods purposefully at the children, still wandering around. Some of them are touching the walls with looks of amazement. Others are touching each other, cooing wordlessly as their fingers touch the fur of a stranger for what might be the first time in their little lives.
It’s horrifying. Even before thinking about how twisted the mind would have to be that looks upon these puppies and thinks of them as nothing more than fuel for a machine...
"We have to get them out of here," Nyx bursts out. "We have to."
"There's no room, though," Aranea says, but her eyes are on the puppies and she's twisting her hands anxiously around her lance in a clearly unconscious tic. She's trying to be tough, to be practical, but she doesn't want to leave the puppies any more than Nyx does. "Biggs and Wedge – the whole plan relies on them falling under suspicion, but the ship is too small for anyone to believe we've put them all on it –"
"Are there any air movements scheduled for the Niflheim air forces right now?" Cor asks her. "How long would it take them to realize that a mobilization isn't authorized and catch up?"
Cor has a plan. Thank the Six.
"What are you thinking?" Aranea asks.
"I'm thinking that this facility is pretty far out there from Gralea, and in the general direction of Lucis," Cor says. "If you go back with Biggs and Wedge, how long would it take you to order your fleet into the air to come here on a bombing run, and to just keep going towards Lucis?"
"But –" she starts, then stops. Her eyes are still on the puppies. "I can be back in two hours. Three, max. But what about the puppies? They can't here when we bomb the place, and they won't fit in the ship."
"They won't be here," Cor says. "Ulrics, you'll be taking the puppies – including Prompto – and going cross-country."
"To Lucis?" Hemera and Nyx chorus, her hands moving in perfect time with his voice. "But – that's days – they're puppies – the mountains –"
"Not to Lucis. To Gralea."
"To Gralea –"
"The 'taurs hiding in the houses will take them," Cor says. "They'll make sure all these puppies disappear into the one place they won't be looked for, hidden among all the other Niflheim puppies already out there. And we'll tell them all that if they can make it to Lucis, they'd be welcome."
"But –"
"There's nowhere else we can take them, and we're not leaving them here," Cor says. His tone brooks no disagreement. "It will already take you most of a day to get to Gralea, given how the puppies can scarcely walk as it is – you'll need to take sleds, and go slow – and it's the only alternative."
"Won't they see us?" Nyx asks. "The scientists here? They could alert the Hanging Gardens -"
"We'll cut off communications first," Cor says. "I'll go do that myself. Given what I know of the 'taur, I suspect Besithia – who is here, I saw a shadow of him earlier – will send his forces to detain me, if I’m available, rather than prioritizing alerting the main force at the Palace. By the time he thinks to do it, the communications system will be down, and then Aranea's bombing run will destroy the remaining evidence that the puppies weren’t here when the bombing took place."
"Wait!" Aranea exclaims. "If you're here, and the Kingsglaive twins are with the puppies, who's going to vouch for my people in Lucis? We won't have time to change the paint from Niflheim colors if we're running."
"You'll be escorting Prince Ravus," Cor tells her.
"To Lucis?" Ravus says sharply. "Didn't you hear me – I've been infected –"
"Your sister and your mother both specialize in healing Starscourge, for one thing," Cor points out. "Niflheim might have told you that the Oracle's healing will not be able to stop your strain of the Scourge, but remember: Niflheim lies. For another thing, we’re going to destroy this facility, so you can’t just stay here; you have to go somewhere. Unfortunately for you, Tenebrae is occupied by Niflheim: if you go there, as they expect you to, they will simply take you into custody again. Thanks to your own actions, Lucis is your only option."
Chastened, Ravus drops his eyes and nods.
"How will you distract Besithia for so long?" Hemera asks.
Cor glances at the wall of armor. "I'm going to draw him off to chase me, and when I have his attention, I'll attack Immortalis. He'll set everything he can on me to prevent that. But first things first. Aranea, take Ravus and go now. Hemera, go quickly to scout the rest of the facility and see if there are any other kids; Nyx, you start getting everyone here into winter clothing so they'll be able to manage the journey to Gralea. I'll get the communications systems down."
They all split off.
It takes Prompto – who by this point has transitioned to showing the other puppies things on his phone, which somehow still works thanks to the wonders of Niflheim wireless technology – a minute to notice that Cor is missing.
"Nyx?" he asks.
"Time to put on cold weather gear," Nyx says brightly. "Come on, everyone - Prompto, you can be my helper, help me get them all dressed."
Unfortunately, cold weather gear in the size that would fit the kids is not exactly easy. There didn't seem to be any conception that they would ever need to go out for any reason.
Nyx tries not to think about the usual necessity of fire drills, or exactly how young the children are, or whether they've ever seen the outdoors at all.
Seriously, fuck Niflheim. Its insane leadership, at the very least.
(He still can't believe so many Kingsglaive actually fell for all that bullshit...now is not the time to think about that. That's what his Crown-mandated therapy sessions are for.)
Nyx ends up wrapping the kitlings in pieces of the white laboratory coats from the stash they found earlier, tearing them apart to get enough of them, and he drapes the older puppies in the rest of the coats, tying the overly large booties onto their paws with torn-up strips.
Most of the puppies seem positively delighted with this treatment, shyly lining up to stick their paws forward to him. They talk to Prompto, so they clearly can talk – albeit not much, well below their age levels, and Nyx highly doubts they can read - but they're far too shy to say anything to Nyx.
At least at first.
"What about Barbarus? Is he coming?" one of the oldest of them finally asks, ducking their head a bit in fear almost immediately.
"Barbarus?" Nyx asks. "No – don't worry – it's okay. It's fine. You were right to ask. Questions are totally okay. Please stop flinching and trying to hide behind each other. And, uh, please tell me who Barbarus is."
"He's Besithia's monkey."
Nyx hesitates. He has the feeling he doesn't want to know.
"Do – do you want him to come with us?" he asks hesitantly.
Virtually every head in the group immediately shakes in a very clear negative.
"He's mean," one of them whispers. Many others nod.
"Well, then he doesn't have to come, does he?" Nyx tries, aiming for a tone that will inspire confidence. "We don't have to even let him know what's happening."
They all start talking at once.
It takes a minute or two for Nyx to decipher what they're saying, which is that, apparently, disobedient children are put in cages in Barbarus' room for him to torment, and there are a few still in there now.
Fuck. Niflheim.
Hemera comes back just around then, confirming that she only saw one other room with kids – they were in the center of the room, and it looked suspicious to her, so she came back to check with him first. The kids all agree that it was Barbarus' room that she saw.
"Okay," she says. "If it's just a monkey, I'll go get them. Stay here."
Nyx nods.
The kids, who don't speak LSL, panic when she makes to leave the room again. They correctly guess that she's going back, but they're all terrified of Barbarus and they don't want to have to go back to the cages if they don't have to – Prompto's already made promises about their future freedom that Nyx couldn't entirely help himself in confirming – and they swarm her, clinging on her to try to keep her back.
She looks at Nyx helplessly.
"Listen," he says hastily. "How about this: we'll all go, okay? No one will need to stay here alone. And when we get there, you all wait in the corridor while Hemera and I go in. We'll both take care of Barbarus, quick and easy, no problem, and we'll get the other kids out of there and we'll leave this whole place behind right after that, okay?"
"You had to say 'quick and easy'," Hemera signs at him, scowling. "Now it's going to be a nightmare."
It kind of is a nightmare.
Somehow, the phrase 'monkey' conveyed a mental image of something small. Something spider-monkey-sized. About the size of a baby coeurl, maybe.
Barbarus is not the size of a baby coeurl.
He is also not a monkey.
He's an ape.
A giant fifteen-foot-tall mechanically enhanced ape, to be specific.
It leaps, screaming, straight at Nyx's face when he walks in, and it's really just the fact that Nyx is so used to warping instead of parrying that saves him from being a monkey-squashed pancake instead of a 'taur.
Hemera doesn't wait after seeing that: she runs in right after Nyx and blasts it with lightning.
That only stuns it, though, because apparently its mechanical parts are self-repairing like the MTs.
Fucking Astrals above and below, who would build this thing?!
Between Nyx and Hemera alternating warping in for stabs and hitting him from a distance with fireballs and lightning and the rocket launchers that are literally just sitting in crates around the room, they wear it down, and then Nyx sees that one of the walls is loose so he lures it over and pulls the wall right down on top of Barbarus. That finishes it.
Thank the Six.
"That was not subtle," Hemera signs with a sigh, going to collect the children trapped in the cages inside the room – most of them near catatonic with terror and barely stirring now, which Nyx can’t blame them for at all. "Very, very not subtle."
"Hopefully Cor got the communications down first," Nyx agrees, shaking his head. He cannot believe that he just fought a half-mechanical monkey.
Then he opens the door again and the hallway is filled with a few dozen eyes looking adoringly at him, which is a pretty far cry from how they were trying sneakily get as far away from him as possible earlier.
“Uh, hi?” he says. “So...uh...looks like Barbarus isn’t a problem anymore?”
“I told you he could do it,” Prompto says, sounding smug.
“Maybe he can make it through the monster in the snow,” one of them whispers, marvelling.
Nyx’s eyebrows go straight up.
“Of course he can,” Prompto brags. “He and Hemera can do anything, just like Cor can.”
“Hold up, hold up, hold up a second here,” Nyx says. “What monster in the snow?”
Prompto gives his nice warm hat to one of the kitlings – the poor thing doesn’t even have fur, which the other children assure him is actually quite normal for his breed (called a ‘Xoloitzcuintli’ or something) and doesn’t represent, like, the mange or anything – and shows a bunch of the others how to put on mittens even if they have to pull them all the way down to their forearms because they're too big for them.
Luckily, Prompto found some rubber bands.
He also helps explain the concept of sledding to make the others a lot less afraid of climbing into the big crates that Nyx and Hemera strap onto sleds and attach to the back of a pair of snowmobiles.
Honestly, Prompto is being extremely helpful. He’s very proud of himself. And he has all of these cool new friends! Even if they don’t really have proper names, which is a bit annoying.
Nyx is still grumbling about not knowing what the monster in the snow is other than something big and white and it eats you if you go out into the snow without permission, the way Prompto’s new friends have explained. Hemera, meanwhile, has been making jokes about the Abominable Snow Monster from an apparently very old game called SkiFree ever since it got mentioned.
Prompto’s not worried. Nyx and Hemera might not be as cool as Cor, but they’re still pretty cool. Look how quickly they took care of that monkey that everyone was afraid of!
This snow monster’s going to be no problem.
“All right,” Nyx says. “I think we’ve gotten everyone secured, and Hemera just ran another perimeter check and brought back the last few kitlings –”
They were in the labs, apparently. Hemera was scowling when she came back with them, but Prompto’s glad that they haven’t missed anyone. Actually, Hemera was even able to find a list of “all current specimens” to confirm that no one was missing, which she said one of the lab techs had helped her get. She signed that with a nasty looking smile on her face – Prompto was a bit worried that the lab tech would tell on them, but Hemera assured him that the lab tech wouldn’t cause any communications problems or anything, smirking the whole time.
Honestly, she could’ve just said that she killed him. Prompto’s been playing M rated games for years now; he’s not a baby anymore.
Well, that, and Cor doesn’t really think that violence is something that kids shouldn’t see so he doesn’t care what type of video games Prompto and Noctis bring home to play as long as the sexual content is minimal. Prompto agrees: he has zero interest in mating. Ick!
“– so we’re good to go,” Nyx concludes. “Prompto, turn off your phone, we don’t want anyone tracking us that way, just in case.”
It takes Prompto a few minutes to find who currently has his phone – he’s letting the other children play games on it, which is very generous and mature of him – and turn it off.
“Ready to go now,” he chirps. “Everyone who’s ready, say ‘ready’!”
“Ready,” all the other children chorus.
“Anyone who’s not ready, say ‘not ready’!”
Silence.
“We’re good to go,” Prompto reports to Nyx, feeling very important.
Nyx is smiling like he can't quite help himself. “Thanks, Prom,” he says. “You're a great helper. All right, everyone, duck down so that the snow doesn’t splash in your faces or knock you out of the crates.”
He puts on his helmet, Hemera does the same, they get on the snowmobiles and that's it: they’re off.
It’s a lot of fun being dragged behind a snowmobile. All the other children think so, too, giggling and shrieking and trying to touch the snow that gets kicked up all around them, or at least they do once Prompto’s explained again to the particularly young ones who've never seen snow that the white stuff is just cold, it’s not dangerous or anything.
They’re about thirty minutes out – they can still see the laboratory behind them because the day is so clear – when the loud rumbling starts.
“It’s him,” one of the older children gasps, pulling the blankets they’ve put into the crates up to his chin. “It’s the monster in the snow.”
Half the group in Prompto’s crate duck under the blankets at once.
“I don’t see any monster –” Prompto starts.
There’s a gigantic roar, and then he does see it.
“It’s a snow behemoth!” he yells, his eyes gone wide. Cor’s hunted behemoths before, when they became a problem, so Prompto's seen some pictures (including a few hilarious selfies he convinced Cor to take for him) but this one’s different: it's bigger, for one thing, being particularly gigantic, and unlike the others it's all white all over. It’s got a massive pair of front horns and a particularly knotty-looking spine-tipped tail, its four giant paws are all tipped with big nasty-looking claws, and it has even bigger teeth in its jaw. It’s also got giant spikes coming out of its hip and elbow joints, plus spine-tipped wings stretching out above its form.
Prompto’s heard that some people claim that behemoths are named after Bahamut for how hard their armored skin is to get through, and that they call behemoths the King of the Beasts because of that.
For the first time, seeing the creature the size of a double-decker bus barreling towards them, screaming in rage, Prompto agrees.
“Go faster!” Nyx shouts to Hemera, and the snowmobiles start going faster, but the behemoth is chasing behind them, bellowing in rage and sometimes spitting out bursts of icy snow that only miss them thanks to Nyx and Hemera’s evasive driving.
It’s gaining on them.
Prompto gulps and clings onto the side of the crate, watching the creature come up behind them.
He wishes he had a gun he could try to shoot it with, though he doesn’t know if that would have much of an impact. He still wishes he had one.
He wishes Cor was here.
He wishes –
There’s another rumbling noise.
At first Prompto thinks it’s the behemoth, but no – the rumbling is larger, deeper, and it seems like it’s coming from everywhere at once.
It’s the ground rumbling.
He turns back to the behemoth, deeply alarmed – can behemoths cause earthquakes? He didn’t know that! – except the behemoth’s eyes have suddenly gone wide, like it doesn’t know what’s going on either, and then suddenly the earth right beneath the behemoth’s paws cracks.
And then the ground explodes, sending the behemoth tumbling head-over-hindquarters in their direction, a giant wave of snow sweeping forward and catching them in it, crate and snowmobile and everything until they’re no longer driving forward, just coasting along the wave of snow, and looking back Prompto can see that from the ground a gigantic metal snake has appeared.
“It’s Immortalis!” one of the other kids shouts.
And when Prompto’s finally got the snow out of his eyes again, he looks and he guesses it must be. The wall of metal armor – it was just one side of a snake, or something that was going to be a snake, he supposes, sometime down the line. It’s incredibly large, impossibly large – it’s at least the height of a house, maybe an apartment building, and it’s got to be at least a sports field or two in length. It’s clearly meant to be something like a half-mile long, when it’s complete.
But it’s not complete.
It’s only half-built – large segments of it are filled with armor and metal, but other portions are just bare steel skeleton, like something has rotted out large portions of it, all except the frame like some sort of mechanical zombie. There are more skeletal sections as it continues, until it cuts off like the back end hasn’t even been finished yet – suggesting an even larger size was originally anticipated – but the sections around the head are more complete. The head isn’t even really a head, either: instead of a snake head it has something like seven giant antenna-like nodes, all filled with whirling drills going in circles like saws, glowing red at the center, and in the very center of those nodes there is a cage with a ‘taur perched inside: Prompto can just about see from this distance that it’s a white-haired greyhound of some sort, wearing white.
He pokes at one of the few other ‘taur children still sitting up in the crate. “Who’s the greyhound in the middle of the face?”
“That’s Besithia,” the other puppy replies. “He must be driving Immortalis. Who’s the ‘taur on top?”
“On top?” Prompto asks, and turns to look again.
There is a ‘taur on top of the gigantic mechanical monster, crouching down low to avoid the wind pressure, his sword buried into the flesh, basically riding the creature out of its hole as his spots flash in the bright light of the snow-reflected sun.
“Bahamut’s scales,” he hears Nyx say from behind him. “The Marshal’s insane. What the fuck is he doing?”
A pause, then, “Yes, Hemera, I know he’s fighting it. Should – should we go help or something?”
“You can do it, Cor!” Prompto hollers in Cor’s direction, watching his Cor – his Cor, because he’s got the best dad of all of the possible dads – leaping through the skeletal sections of Immortalis, cutting through various parts of the system even as the snake writhes and tries to shoot laser beams at him but mostly ends up hitting itself.
There’s a grumble of sound to Prompto’s right.
He glances over, then does a double-take.
It’s the behemoth.
It’s come to a stop right next to them – none of them are moving anymore, they’re all stuck in the giant snowdrift that came from Immortalis’ escape from under the earth – and it’s staring back at Immortalis with big, wide confused eyes.
It’s clearly never had to deal with something so much larger than it before.
It glances over at them.
Prompto meets its eyes.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding and gesturing at Immortalis. “What the fuck, am I right?”
“Prompto!” Nyx says, a second delayed so Prompto knows he’s probably just calling out on Hemera’s behalf. “Watch your language!”
“You were literally just saying stuff like that!”
“I’m allowed! I’m an adult!”
“Just barely!”
“Still counts!”
“Mmhmmmr?” the behemoth says. It’s sitting down now.
It watches – they all watch – as Cor continues to leap through the giant metal skeleton.
“Yeah,” Nyx says after a few seconds. “We’re going to go help. Prom – just – I don’t know – keep an eye out here? If the behemoth starts to do anything, scream.”
He and Hemera both throw their knives in the general direction of Immortalis, warping from throw to throw, until they’ve made it to where Cor is fighting.
Prompto can see him barking out orders to them, though he can’t hear it at this distance, and they immediately set out in different directions, all three of them. They’re crawling over it like little bugs as the giant snake lashes out, shaking its head and its body like it can throw them off of it.
“Are they going to win?” one of the other kids – they’ve all come out from under the blankets now to watch in amazement – asks.
“Yes,” Prompto says firmly. “Definitely.”
The alternative isn’t worth thinking about, anyway.
In fact, soon enough, some part of the tail where Nyx is starts exploding, and then the part on the other side where Hemera is, and then the next thing Prompto knows, there’s a growing sequence of explosions rippling through the entire frame, tearing it apart.
Prompto can’t see Nyx anywhere in the smoke. Or Hemera. Or Cor...
Then, deep in the smoke and ash of the explosions, he sees the twinkle of warp-light.
He stands up on the very tips of his paw-pads. “C’mon,” he says, begging. “C’mon –”
He sees the warp-light again. And again. And –
“Yes!” he howls, seeing Nyx and Hemera both, working in perfect tandem together the way only the twins or highly trained acrobats can, each of them grabbing onto Cor, one on each side of him, warping steadily in their direction as the snake slowly collapses in on itself. Prompto's tail is wagging like crazy, and that convinces the other children that it’s okay, that they’ve won, that they can be happy, that they can be free –
And then the explosions start from the other direction, too – well behind them, way back where the laboratory used to be. In the air above the laboratory, there's a whole squadron of airships, Aranea’s airships, and they’re doing a bombing run on the factory as they fly over the mountains in the direction of Lucis.
Prompto covers his ears, the other children mimicking his actions.
When the explosions finally stop, the last of the airships having gone past, Cor and Nyx and Hemera have made it back to them.
Nyx and Hemera both drop down onto their bellies in the snow, panting and tails wagging like mad, and Cor is covered in smoke and oil and blood and tar and metal bits, but he’s still standing on all four paws, holding his sword, even if he is breathing a little hard, too.
Best. Dad. Ever.
“My Cor,” Prompto whispers to one of the other puppies. They look very impressed. They all look very impressed. He’s been telling them all about Cor and how extremely amazing he is, but he gets the feeling that they didn’t entirely believe him until right about now.
Cor doesn’t look at Prompto, though. He looks instead at the behemoth.
He raises his sword, arches an eyebrow, and asks, “Are we going to have a problem?”
The behemoth stares back.
And then, very slowly, it drops its head down to its forepaws, its tail up in the air, an obvious gesture of submission and surrender to what is clearly a higher power.
“Good,” Cor says.
The behemoth ends up dragging their sleds – the snowmobiles were totaled – all the rest of the way to Gralea, Cor and Nyx and Hemera all riding daintily on its back.
Monica is there already, with the advance scout of the Crownsguard that were supposed to be sneakily infiltrating Niflheim from the direction of Tenebrae, and she’s got a whole bunch of Gralean citizens with her that are looking in the direction of the puppies like they’re seeing something wonderful.
“Hello, Monica,” Cor says. “I see you got my message.”
“Yeah,” she says dryly. “I got all of them, thanks, and I’ve passed them along to King Regis.”
“Good.”
“He says you’re not allowed to bring that thing home with you.”
“Awwwww,” Prompto whines. He’s moved up to the back of the behemoth (he’s named it Frosty the Abominable Snowman, which means that Hemera loves him forever and Nyx is already moaning in despair about the next generation) to sit with Cor, and he’s already constructed visions of having the world’s best show-and-tell session ever. “Are you sure?”
“I think the Graleans can use his help more than we can,” Cor says dryly. “But nice try.”
“Thank the Glacian,” Nyx says, hopping off and rubbing at his back. He was further back towards the behemoth’s wings, and Prompto gets the impression that he didn’t much enjoy riding. “Let’s go home already.”
“Well,” Cor says.
Prompto immediately brightens. He knows that ‘well’.
“Well?” Hemera signs. She looks wary.
“I was thinking we’d make just one tiny little stop along the way back,” Cor says. “You see, I finally remembered where I’d heard of Succarpe before…”
Monica covers her face. “You just blew up a top secret fortress and killed one of the Emperor’s most trusted advisors,” she says through her hands. “You were already one of the most wanted targets in all of Niflheim, and now they probably want to kill you even more. Just take the win and go home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cor says dismissively. “I blow up something every time I come to Niflheim. Our cover isn’t anywhere near blown yet.”
“My dresses are,” Hemera signs, amused.
“You can pick up some more when we get to Tenebrae,” Cor tells her.
“Actually,” Monica says. “About that.”
“What?”
“Sylvia’s decided that if you’re taking both of her kids to Lucis, then she’s going to come along too.”
“She’s what?”
“Don’t worry,” Monica says sweetly. “I’m sure the Oracle will be more than glad to make a pit stop in Succarpe on the way to finding her missing and now mortally ill son.”
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
Luna is shaking, she’s not going to lie. To think that war – invasion – came so close to Insomnia itself! And at the hands of the Kingsglaive, no less! With daemons, the scourge of Eos, as Niflheim's weapons of choice – she's heard of it before, of course, distantly, but she could barely believe it until she was seeing it - it’s vile, absolutely vile, and it shakes her to her core to know that any ‘taurs, any ‘taurs at all, would choose to use such a weapon.
"Don't be sad, Luna," Prompto says, patting her back comfortingly. "It's over now."
She nods. Over, at least until the trials for the traitorous Kingsglaive, and very likely Drautos' execution.
"Besides, the summoning thing was way cool," Prompto adds, which makes her smile.
"Never lose your sunny way of looking at things, Prompto," she tells him.
He grins at her.
There's a tap on her shoulder – it's Scientia. "I see that you listened to me about not dying," she tells Luna approvingly. "And my little troublemaker came back in one piece this time, too."
"It was one time," Ignis grouses. "And I got pneumonia last time, I didn't break something or anything."
"Lungs are a piece of you," Scientia says firmly.
Luna smiles at her, too.
"Now," Scientia says in her usual brisk manner, "would you like to go home or stay and hear the reports of what happened during the invasion?"
"Stay," Luna and Ignis both chorus.
"We get to?" Ignis adds, looking pleased.
"Well, you're certainly in the thick of it now," Scientia says, looking a touch rueful. "I doubt any of us realized quite how – eventful – these Covenants would be."
They all go to the sitting room, where poor Mr. Amicitia is still being patched up by his wife while Gladio watches worriedly, since Mr. Amicita refused to go to the hospital and take room from someone who probably needed it more, in his words. Luna’s not sure that was a good decision; he looks awful.
At least the King and Queen are all right, and the Kingsglaive they like, too, like the Ulric twins, even if Hemera has a nasty bandage on her arm and Libertus has a broken leg in a cast.
It's been hours and hours since they first arrived back, but this is the first opportunity they've had to all settle down and talk about what happened - everyone's been too busy putting down the last few daemons and restoring order to the city and capturing any remaining Kingsglaive traitors, and that's still ongoing, left in the hands of Cor's trusted Crownsguard lieutenants.
"So, today we went to form a Covenant with Titan," Cor says after a few moments of collectively stunned silence. "What'd we miss?"
That gets a laugh out of the room.
"I think you can gather the general outline of what happened here," King Regis says wryly. "And even I don't know all of the specifics yet. We'll be doing clean-up for days, if not weeks, yet to come"
"There is one thing I'd like to mention to the group up front, though," Mr. Amicitia says, frowning. "I was assigned to lead the division of the Crownsguard meant to arrest the emperor – unsuccessfully, as you can see –"
"How did that happen?" Cor asks, frowning as well. "You're easily a match for any of the MT guards they had, much less any of Niflheim's 'taur officers."
"I am," Mr. Amicitia says. "But not, it seems, for their Chancellor. He went through us like a knife through butter, and barely bothered straightening his posture to do it."
"Is he the Accursed?" Luna asks eagerly. She thinks he is, but it's not like they have any reason to know for sure.
"Still unconfirmed," Mr. Amicitia says, "but let's say – it seems reasonable."
"That would mesh with my observations as well," Queen Aulea says. "In fact, I'm hunting down a lead at the moment – Cyrella, your assistance in the library would be invaluable here –"
"Of course," Cyrella says.
"But that matter can be discussed further later," Queen Aulea continues, much to Luna's disappointment. "I take it from Titan's guest appearance that the Covenant was successful? I would appreciate the details."
The rest of the evening is mostly spent rehashing things and getting damage reports, which isn't quite as interesting as Luna thought it would be. And she's also extremely tired, so she's more relieved than she'll ever admit when Scientia insists that they go home after only a few hours.
Iggy complains, but a yawn breaks through right as he's trying to point out why he can stay, so Scientia doesn't accept his arguments.
When they get home, Luna wants nothing more than her bed, but it was a very exciting day, a very dangerous day. She's sure her mother will want to hear that she's doing fine, so, as much as she prefers to go straight to bed, she sits down at the little long-distance camera-phone set up she has on her desk and calls Tenebrae.
There's no answer.
Frowning, Luna tries again, but still – no luck.
Well, that happens sometimes, when her mother or brother are too busy to take her call. They'll call her back soon enough.
She goes to bed, secure in that knowledge.
That security becomes increasingly frayed when, over the next week, Tenebrae stubbornly refuses to either call her or answer her calls.
"I don't know what to do," Luna stresses to Scientia. "I don't want to bother King Regis with this – he's supervising all the rebuilding and everything –"
"It's important," Scientia tells her. "Not just because you're important, though of course you are, but because your mother is one of our allies. I'll set up a meeting with King Regis this afternoon, and I'll be happy to come with you when you talk to him, if you like."
"Yes please," Luna says, because she might be fourteen and have known King Regis for years now, but he's still scary when he's sitting on his throne.
King Regis listens to her concern and promises to make a few calls of his own, and, if those result in nothing, to send someone undercover to find out what's happened.
And so Luna waits, filling her time with school, and extra fighting lessons, and talking on her camera-phone with Cindy now that the other 'taur has all the pieces she needed to build her own receiver.
A month goes by, and then another, including Prompto's blissfully uneventful (albeit restricted to Insomnia) birthday party.
King Regis tells Luna that they've sent someone to go find out what's going on, and that they have a new receiver with them in case all that's happened is that the old one broke.
That's reassuring, a little, but not as much as she'd like. She wants news. She wants news now!
Sadly, the universe does not align itself with her whims, so she resigns herself to waiting.
Luna's in school when the call finally comes.
"– when I said now, I mean now," she hears Scientia saying from the corridor, sounding irritated, and gathers up her books with an apologetic smile at her classmates, who smile back, and slips out with a nod of approval from her teacher.
"I've gotten all my things," Luna says, seeing an annoyed Scientia with a harried-looking vice-principal. "Shall I be excused for the rest of today?"
"Yes," Scientia says before the vice-principal can respond. "Come along, Luna."
Luna comes along.
"What's going on?" she asks when they're in the car heading back to the Citadel. "Is everyone all right?"
If someone needs her healing – but no, she only does her healing sessions once a week, under Scientia's close observation to ensure that she's not over-extending herself – but maybe one of the children? Noctis?
"Everyone's fine," Scientia says. "Your mother called."
Luna brightens. "That's wonderful news! At last! What was it – did the receiver break?"
"In a sense," Scientia says, and says no more.
Luna rushes into King Regis' secondary office, since he also has a receiver there and her mother would more likely have called him than her given the time of day, not to mention the diplomatic protocol involved.
When she gets there, though, King Regis and Queen Aulea are there, and they look grave, and her mother is on the screen, and her steely mother’s eyes are wet with tears.
Belatedly, Luna begins to worry. "What's wrong?" she asks, looking at the adults. "Mother, what's happened? You got the new receiver working -"
"It's your brother," Queen Aulea says gently. "He's been taken by Niflheim; they broke the receiver to cover their tracks."
Luna staggers back, covering her mouth with her hand.
"It's worse than that," Luna's mother says, covering her eyes with her hands. "Ravus – Luna, Ravus went with them willingly."
"We will have to put our plans for the Inferniad on hold, of course," Regis tells Cor. "Which was likely the purpose of this gambit, assuming the Chancellor is in fact the Accursed."
Cor nods, agreeing. There is simply no way they can afford to split their forces for the Inferniad – every children's story and historical record they can find have all confirmed that Ifrit's fallen body, or his consciousness' consignment to deep storage if you preferred to think of it that way, had been rather notoriously placed within the Rock of Ravatogh, Lucis' most fearsome volcano.
A volcano, unfortunately, positioned very close to the border with Niflheim and Accordo.
Niflheim would need only send its fleet of airships to secure the location, and from reports they've been receiving, they already have.
That leaves only two approaches to get to the volcano: stealth, by some means they have not yet figured out, or a full-frontal attack.
Kidnapping Ravus Nox Fleuret was a very effective way to ensure that the latter option would not be feasible. Niflheim – or rather, its too-intelligent Chancellor – undoubtedly knows that Luna is being fostered in Lucis, and that Sylvia would demand Lucis' help in retrieving her son. Lucis could not afford to refuse, having taken the woman's daughter from her.
And so Cor was assigned to go attempt a resuce, and an elite division of the Crownsguard was to go with him as well; without them, no reasonable attack could be waged.
There was still some time before the Inferniad, but none of them thought the current situation likely to resolve in time.
"I would appreciate you taking some Kingsglaive with you as well," Regis adds. "The morale in that unit has been very low, given the ongoing trials."
Scientia is taking perhaps more glee than she ought to in ensuring that each and every traitorous wretch receives every single possible right they are due under the Lucis Charter, and rubbing it in their faces while she's at it. Her comparison of the laws of Lucis and Niflheim – pointing out that as traitors to the state, they would probably have just been shot on sight or possibly handed over as living specimens for experimentation if they had been prisoners of Niflheim – are growing increasingly less subtle.
Cor is in favor, though Regis worries that she's being cruel. Clarus is firmly on Scientia's side, though: he thinks that her comparisons might even be breaking through the shell of lies they've all told themselves, and possibly offering hope of eventual rehabilitation – though of course they will never be trusted with military service or even unmonitored access to the Citadel again.
The penalty for having been very good liars.
But for all that, it cannot be denied that morale amongst the Kingsglaive is in fact very low. The betrayals gave support to the unfounded accusations of their most bitterly xenophobic critics, who alleged that refugees would never truly become loyal to their new home and would thus turn on it at the first instance. Worse, the remaining Kingsglaive can't even defend themselves - the betrayals did occur, and Drautos/Glauca's particular choice of rhetoric had become public - other than to point out that most of the Kingsglaive did not betray Lucis, and that it was the Kingsglaive that suffered the highest casualties in opposing the traitors.
It wasn't much balm, though, especially during the seemingly endless series of funerals for the Kingsglaive that had been killed by 'taurs they considered to be brothers and sisters, often quite literally by being stabbed in the back.
No, the Kingsglaive needs something to cheer it back up, some heroism they can point to and say: we did that, for you. We are still willing to do what we must for Lucis, for Insomnia, for us all.
"I was already planning on it," Cor tells Regis. "I'm going to split up our attack, creating two teams: a larger armed force consisting of the main Crownsguard force, led by Monica, which will go straight to Tenebrae, focusing on liberating Sylvia's manor and assisting with the search using that as a springing off point, in case they've hidden Ravus near there, and a smaller strike force, let by me, to go straight into Niflheim to try to see if we can find him hidden in Gralea."
"Niflheim's capital," Regis murmurs. “That’ll be dangerous.”
Cor inclines his head slightly. "Agreed. As I said, I will lead the second strike force personally. Additionally, I plan to take some Kingsglaive – they're more accustomed to independent movement than the Crownsguard, since they're not as familiar with regular formation training."
"That makes sense," Regis says. "Not to mention the optics of the Immortal willingly going into battle supported by only Kingsglaive, demonstrating trust in them...yes, very good. You have my blessing – take whomever you like."
"I'll take the Ulric twins," Cor says.
"Oh?" Regis says, his eyebrows arching. "I'd rather thought that you'd want them to stay here - for the new leadership of the Kingsglaive...?"
Cor snorts. Regis would think that – he was never much of a war-leader, but then that's why he has Clarus and Cor.
"They're fantastic soldiers, and excellent leaders in the field," he says gently. "But they'd be awful captains. They're heroes by nature, not soldiers: they want to protect people from bad things, and that includes war. They'd name themselves to head every awful mission, just to spare others from having to do it; they'd refuse to assign the best people to the job for sentimentality's sake; and they'd probably get themselves dramatically killed by sheer over-exhaustion at the first instance."
"Never heard of anyone like that before," Clarus says dryly from where he's curled up on a couch. His injuries are healing well, though he's still bandaged up. "Not once."
"I," Cor says with dignity, "grew out of it. And they might, too, but they're not there yet. Besides, you've seen the quality of their paperwork."
Regis and Clarus wince. In the last few months, they've been jointly acting as the Kingsglaive's direct commander. Cor has taken a particular delight in forcing them to do all the paperwork that comes with the job – more, since they have to review Drautos’ past paperwork as well. At least for that project they have Scientia’s army of lawyers to explain the nuances, but the new documents? It’s all them.
Even for men accustomed to the paperwork of government, the paperwork of the military is an unpleasant beast of burden.
“No, they’re definitely not captain material, at least not yet,” Cor says firmly. “They’re heroes, and Kingsglaive needs heroes right now; I’m going to take them and give them a chance to do what they do best.”
“Any suggestions on who should be the next captain, then?” Clarus asks.
“Libertus.”
“Libertus?”
“Basically all of the Kingsglaive like him, he’s moderately easy-going but doesn’t let people walk all over him, he’s a decent fighter but a better strategist, and he has an entirely instinctual but very good code of ethics,” Cor says with a shrug. “And he somehow gets all of his paperwork done on time, which is frankly a miracle.”
Regis and Clarus look marginally convinced by that last one.
“Take it under advisement,” Cor suggests. “I’ll go pack.”
Packing, however, is complicated by the fact that when he gets home, there’s an overgrown puppy sitting in his pack instead of his clothing.
“Prom,” Cor says.
“I want to come with you,” Prompto says firmly.
“Prompto,” Cor says again.
“It’s Niflheim,” Prompto insists. “I’m a skeleton key, remember?” He waves his barcoded wrist. “I’d be useful.”
“Prompto. No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re nine. I’m not taking a nine-year-old into a battlefield. Not on purpose, anyway!”
“But –”
“No, Prompto.” Cor lifts Prompto out of his bag and puts him down near the door. “This one’s just me.”
“It’s always just you,” Prompto grumbles.
“Yes,” Cor says. “Because I’m an adult.”
“Just like you were when you joined the Crownsguard?” Prompto asks innocently, looking up through his eyelashes.
“Nice try, sneaky,” Cor tells him. “I was older than you are now.”
By at least four years, he tells himself virtuously. Maybe something like three and a half if you want to be bothered by little things like rounding and birth certificates. Damnit, it still counts.
Judging from the look Prompto is giving him, Cor’s not doing a great job keeping an entirely straight face about it.
Also, Gladio, at eleven, is getting dangerously close to thirteen.
He really hopes they finish the whole Prophecy before then, or he'll totally run out of decent arguments.
Somehow divining the direction of Cor's thoughts, Prompto sits back on his hindquarters, crosses his arms, and says, "If Gladio was the one –"
"He isn't," Cor says firmly. "Besides, he'd be staying home anyway to take care of his dad. Remember that?"
Prompto looks a little shamefaced for a moment, remembering Clarus' injuries, but quickly rallies with, "Iggy –"
"Is trying to comfort Luna, given how upset she is over Ravus’ defection. And Noctis is your age, so don't even try."
"Noct can do the summoning thing," Prompto points out. "No one else can. He'd be useful, too."
Cor sighs and settles down on his underbelly to look at Prompto. "Prom, I'm not refusing to take you because you won't be useful. I'm refusing to take you because you could be in danger, and I don't want that to happen."
"Danger's a part of life," Prompto replies. He sounds like he's quoting someone. Probably Cor. "It's how you prepare for it and how you handle it that matters."
Definitely Cor.
Damnit.
"Prom –"
"You said I could get a present or a privilege if I exceeded my shooting targets," Prompto says. "I did. Two days ago. I want to come with you."
"Prom –"
"This is what I want!"
Cor hates saying no to Prompto. But sometimes a 'taur's gotta do what a 'taur's gotta do.
"No, Prompto. You're not coming with me."
"Fine," Prompto explodes, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. "You go by yourself and maybe get hurt like Gladio's dad or – or – or worse, just because you wouldn't take me, and then I'll be sad and it'll be all your fault! So there!"
"Prompto –"
But Prompto is already turning and fleeing to the door. "Guess I'd better say goodbye now," he says, sniffling. "Since you're probably gonna be gone soon. But I'm still mad!"
And then he runs out.
Cor didn't even get his usual pre-mission good-luck hug.
He feels bereft.
"Six, what he'll be like as a teenager," Cor murmurs, scrubbing at his face. "I don't even want to know."
He hopes that his bright, sunny Prompto rethinks his decision not to say goodbye any further, but he doubts it – Prompto's definitely absorbed Cor's stubbornness.
No – best to just accept the way things are. They'll make up when he gets back.
Besides, if the worst should happen, he's written letters for Prompto to open, reassuring him of his love for him, his pride in his development, everything. Cor rewrites those letters twice each year, updating it with new details, new compliments, to make sure they're as good as he can get them.
It won't be enough, he doesn't kid himself about that. But it'll be – something.
Cor turns back to his packing.
A 'taur's gotta do what a 'taur's gotta do...
Nyx is honestly shocked that Cor Leonis has lived as long as he has.
"You – you – the Immortal – head of the Crownsguard – most well-known fighter in Lucis – have been to Niflheim before – how many times?!"
"I've lost count," Cor (the reckless bastard) says with a shrug.
“And after all that, the best you can do is tell us that it’s cold?!”
"Well. It is cold."
"What a characteristically effusive description," Hemera signs, rolling her eyes. "Please, tell us what you really think."
Cor shrugs.
"Remind me about the part where we need all the luggage?" Nyx asks, jerking his head back towards the literal crates of luggage they have on the back of the truck. "Seems unnecessary. I thought you told us to pack light."
"Those crates are necessary."
"But there's nothing in them but clothing!" Nyx protests.
"You looked?"
"Well, at one of them..."
Cor looks long-suffering. "The luggage itself isn't important. Having the luggage is important."
"How?" Hemera asks.
"The reason I've been so successful at smuggling myself into and out of Niflheim is that I do it a different way each time," Cor explains. "This time, since I have you two, we're going to go with the direct approach."
"I feel like there's a hidden jibe in there about Kingsglaive discipline," Nyx says to Hemera, shaking his head mock-mournfully. He can only joke about it because he knows that of all people, Cor wouldn't.
"Crownsguard humor," Hemera agrees. "Sad. Very sad."
"Shut up, both of you," Cor says, sounding amused – which is better than the rather gloomy he's sounded since he left Insomnia. Something to do with his kid; Nyx isn't sure what.
"So what is the plan, and why does it involve luggage with clothing?" Hemera asks.
"You're going as a noble canidaetaur lady, Hemera," Cor says. "From Galahd; you're visiting Niflheim. You know they allow canidaetaurs in pretty liberally, even if they're from Lucis-aligned states."
"That's true," Hemera signs, but she's scowling. "But – a lady? Why?"
"Because then Nyx can go as your bodyguard, and since, as a lady, you'd never stoop to pantomime when someone doesn't understand you because of your deafness, that means I can go as your translator," Cor says. "Your meek, scholarly translator, who you have no choice but to take with you everywhere you go, even if it's technically barred to felidaetaurs."
"That's brilliant," Nyx says after a moment of sheer appreciation. "As a translator, they'd start seeing you less as a person and more as a floating narrative voice."
"Exactly," Cor says.
"Meek?" Hemera signs doubtfully. "You?"
"I'm a decent actor when it calls for it," Cor says dryly. "Also, I have an ugly set of glasses – you'd be amazed how much they help."
Nyx can't wait to see that.
"I see your tail wagging, Ulric First," Cor says warningly.
"Who, me?" Nyx says, deliberately wagging it harder.
"I feel like I should be Ulric First for this trip," Hemera signs. "Given that I'm the noble lady and all. Ugh, does that mean I have to wear jewelry?!"
"Looks like it, selena," Nyx says fondly. "Also, we're getting close to the ferry to Altissia – Cor, should she change?"
"No, no need; changing on board is fine," Cor says. "The ship itself is secure – staffed and filled with people we trust. I want to leave as soon as we get to the port."
"And here I was hoping to experience Galdin Quay for myself," Nyx says, sighing over-dramatically. "The largest population of Galahdians outside of Galahd, you know. They might have real food, not that bland stuff you makes us all live off in Insomnia."
"You'll live," Cor says.
Boarding the ferry is easy enough. Cor produces the snazzy new identity papers they're going to use. Hemera's is ridiculous – Lady Adrasteia delia Ushas, of the Laomedon Estates over on one of the northern isles. It's a real place, with a fairly notorious tendency to change hands between its many distant family members due to a very unfortunate testamentary decision made generations back . Nyx is Erebus Black, a longtime family retainer and her personal bodyguard, and poor Cor is Geryon Praeneste, a translator.
"At least you got the names right," Nyx says cheerfully. "I was worried you used Lucian roots, instead of Galahdian ones."
Cor rolls his eyes. "You done checking us in?" he asks the guy in charge of greeting guests. "Good. Let's be off as soon as possible."
"We delayed departure of an earlier timed vessel for you," the guy says. "So you're the last guests; we can leave at once as soon as your luggage is stowed. Go make yourself comfortable – the journey will be about five hours long from Galdin."
"Five hours?" Nyx asks blankly. He can sail, though as an inlander he doesn't make too much of a habit of it, and he can read a map. "How?"
"There's a cruise element," the guy says with a shrug. "For fancy vessels like this one, we prefer the scenic – and, coincidentally, slightly safer – approach to Altissia. There are more direct routes, but..."
"Not as fancy, not as safe, gotcha."
Hemera pokes Cor, who has his eyes turned back to shore with a very un-Cor-like gloom again. "Let's get something to eat first."
Nyx approves of her plan – and not just because he's always hungry, the way she's always teasing him about. Cor's a leader, first and foremost, and he takes care to ensure that his people are full and energized.
Even if he does pick at the food on his own plate like it's personally offended him.
"You okay?" Nyx asks after a bit.
Cor shrugs. "I have a food thing," he says vaguely. "Hasn't acted up in a while. I'll get down enough to be functional, don't worry."
They spend about an hour at the ship's truly stellar buffet, clowning around a bit in hopes of lifting Cor out of his sulk. They're not entirely successfully, but he does start laughing at the lobster quadrille they put on, complete with Nyx singing the words.
"All right," Cor says after a while. "Go get changed; if there's anything we need to fix, I want to know it now."
Nyx's outfit consists of an overcoat of dark greys and dark purples of the Laomedon estate, very stern but for the somewhat flouncy white shirt underneath – very piratical – which is pretty standard for more monied Galahdians to insist on for their households. He dabs kohl under his eyes, too, which he hasn't had to do for any practical purpose since he left Galahd, and braids the appropriately fierce set of beads into his hair: he's already got good luck ones for fighting, honor and good health in, but he adds loyalty and commitment, plus a whimsical strand signifying smooth sailing – which, in slang, is an indication that he's both single and open to sharing his next heat with the right 'taur if someone's interested.
He's about halfway through touching up his tattoos with a henna overlay that suggests a slightly more conservative heritage when he hears the yelp.
He's out of the door in half a second. "Hemera! What is it?"
Cor's out there too, sword in hand.
"You're going to have to break that habit if you want to come off as meek, you know," Nyx tells him. Now that he's had a second to consider, Hemera's yelp was surprised but didn’t sound like she was either in pain or afraid.
Cor rolls his eyes. He's in a pretty clever variant of understated Lucian servant dress – same colors as Nyx, yet somehow desaturated and even more conservative a cut, more business-suit than soldier. His clothing is a bit too large for him, making him even thinner than he already is and hiding his powerful shoulders. He does, in fact, have a set of spectacles on that somehow manage to complete the effect of a weedy, anxious little man.
It’s – actually really effective. And super weird.
Shit, how many people has Nyx overlooked while on guard duty if Cor the freaking Immortal can do that?
To avoid having to think about that too hard, Nyx knocks on his sister's door. "Selena? You okay?"
She knocks back 'yes, give me a second'.
"One sec," Nyx tells Cor.
"I know what that means, yes," Cor says dryly, putting away his sword.
A few moments later, Hemera opens the door partway. "You will never believe what I found in the luggage next to my dresses," she signs, looking exasperated, and then she opens the door the rest of the way and drags forward –
"Prompto!" Cor exclaims, rushing forward and embracing him.
"Hi, Cor," Prompto replies, smiling broadly and hugging him back.
"What are you doing here?" Cor demands after a few seconds. "I told you that you couldn't come!"
"I'm your skeleton key," Prompto says firmly. "I'm not gonna let you go without me."
"You do know I've been in Niflheim multiple times before, right?"
"Yes, but you've never been to Zegnautus Keep," Prompto replies. "I heard you and Uncle Clarus talking about it."
"Zegnautus Keep?" Nyx echoes, eyebrows arching. "No wonder you needed a noble lady involved, if you wanted to get an invite in there. Isn't that a giant airship that's only sometimes a city?"
"It's the seat of the Emperor when he's at Gralea," Cor says. "If Ravus went willingly, like Sylvia says, and they decided to leave Tenebrae, then that'll be where in Niflheim they take him. His pride won't permit anything less. Prom, I have half a mind to turn this ship around right now and send you back home!"
"Does that mean you have half a mind that you won't?" Prompto says hopefully. "You'd lose a lot of time that way, you know."
Cor sighs. "Prom, we're going undercover –"
"I know!" he interrupts. "I got Noctis to lend me some of his court clothing; I'll fit in with the nobility disguise, no problem!"
"Noctis?" Cor says, sounding alarmed. "Prom, if Noctis is there, I am turning this ship around, time loss or no time loss!"
"No, no," Prompto says quickly, though his tail's started going a million miles an hour at the suggestion in Cor's voice that he might not get left behind. "He had to stay back at home, since he's helping out with the rebuilding effort and doing a lot of public appearances and charity visits and stuff. Iggy's helping him with all of that, plus he's got to take care of Luna, and Gladio has to stay with Noctis 'cause he's his Shield and also 'cause of his dad –"
"Gladio knows he's not officially a Shield until he turns sixteen and gets his tattoo, right?" Cor asks, clearly having given up on turning the ship around, to judge by the way he's absently started grooming Prompto's fur and the way his tail has gone all relaxed and happy.
"He's still a Shield, even if it's unofficial," Prompto says firmly. "And that's everyone accounted for, except for me, and I'm with you."
Cor groans.
"He can be my son," Hemera signs. "I'll be a tragic widowed heiress, taking her only son and heir to visit the land of his father – a dashing Niflheim sailor who visited Galahd only briefly before dying tragically saving lives in a storm –"
"Glacian's jewels, Hemera, where'd you get that from?" Nyx exclaims. "A romance novel?"
"Telenovela, actually," she says, grinning. "They're kind of addictive. I've gotten Libertus into them – you're next."
"Fuck no I'm not next."
Cor has his eyes covered. "This is a terrible idea," he grumbles.
Cor taps Prompto's nose with a finger, causing the puppy to giggle and hide his face. "I'm going to need you to be very careful, okay?" he says. "First sign of serious danger, you're going back on the boat."
Prompto's nodding furiously.
"You have a screwed up sense of danger, boss," Nyx can't resist telling Cor, even though it makes Prompto give him a dirty look. "You sure this is a good idea?"
"It's Niflheim," Cor says, like that explains anything. Perhaps figuring out from Nyx's glare that he needs to expand on that, he adds, "Prompto's originally from Niflheim – possibly even from Gralea proper. It's an important part of his heritage, and I don't want to keep him from it."
"An important part of his heritage which we're at war with," Nyx points out. "And currently infiltrating."
Cor makes a face. "In my defense, it isn't actually the stupidest thing I've ever done."
"Knowing you? That's totally not a defense," Hemera signs. "Come on, kiddo," she adds to Prompto, who – thank the Six – is fluent in LSL after all these years. "Let's get you dressed up – luckily your hair is just long enough for some proper braids – oh, and we'll get some henna on you, too –"
Nyx shakes his head in amusement. "We'll keep an eye on him, boss," he tells Cor. "Don't worry. We're really good at playing up the stereotypical Galahd thing when we need to – no one will question our disguises."
"I hope I'm doing the right thing," Cor murmurs, looking at Hemera's now-closed door with no little anxiety. "He's so young..."
Nyx clasps his shoulder. "He's clearly coming along whether you want him to or not," he tells him. "Might as well keep him safe and close to you. Turning around now would nuke the entire mission – the Niffs know our ferry schedules, and they have eyes in Accordo."
"I know," Cor says. "That's the only reason I'm agreeing."
He reaches over and snags a sandwich that Nyx smuggled out of the buffet for later. Taking a nice, big bite, he says, "Say, do you think the buffet's still open? Prom might be hungry."
"I'll check," Nyx offers, hiding his smile. In his opinion, this mission's chances of success just went up considerably: Cor is pretty fearsome as a general rule, but in a good mood and with a kid to protect?
Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
“I don’t like this,” Iggy whispers to Gladio, who squeezes his hand.
“It’ll be okay,” Gladio assures him. He’s not entirely sure that’s correct, but he’s going to say it anyway. Iggy’s mom is helping direct the efforts to evacuate civilians and set up a resistance force – the Niflheim ships have started arriving in full force now, dropping bombs and MT soldiers and everything, and the Captain of the Coast Guard, a red fox ‘taur named Desidero, recruited her immediately when he saw her ordering people around with her usual bossy calm.
Six, Gladio loves the Scientias. He can’t think of a better family to be going through a crisis with, except of course his own.
But his dad told him he needs to be strong and good and save lives because he needs to be a proper Amicitia Shield, and he’s gonna be.
Well, as soon as he gets a chance, anyway.
He glances at Iggy’s mom, who is now entirely preoccupied arguing over a map with Desidero and his lieutenants – they seem to be discussing where to move the few anti-aircraft guns they have, or at least the cannons they had for sea warfare that they’re repurposing for anti-aircraft uses. That’s keeping her pretty busy, which is why she’d asked Desidero’s wife and husband to watch over them because she was busy and the Crownsguard was busy and they weren't particularly martial themselves.
Ielena and Tomaz are very nice, but they’re also trying to watch a whole bunch of other kids at the same time, so they're not really paying attention.
Yes, now would be a good time.
Gladio tugs on Iggy’s hand and Iggy turns to look at him.
“I’m gonna go out and see who I can help,” Gladio whispers to him.
“That’s a terrible idea and you shouldn’t do it,” Iggy hisses back.
“I’m a Shield,” Gladio reminds him. “My dad told me to save some lives, remember? I’ve gotta!”
Iggy hesitates.
“C’mon,” Gladio begs. “We can just go and check out how it’s going outside – we’re nowhere near any of the main fighting – if there’s nothing to do, we’ll come right back in –”
“Oh, okay,” Iggy gives in, and Gladio does a little leap of joy, then starts tugging Iggy towards the door before he changes his mind.
The street outside is filled with smoke and shouting.
Gladio leads the way towards where the most noise is coming from, sticking close to the wall with Iggy right behind him; he’s sure he’ll find people to help there. He clutches at his little sword – more of a large knife, which Cor called a ‘machete’ when he gave it to Gladio for his eighth birthday and which Gladio’s Dad called ‘more trouble than it’s worth’, but which is the best he’s got right now. He can wield bigger swords – he has in the training grounds – but he doesn’t have any of those with him now.
There’s a lot of people running around – some Crownsguard that Gladio recognizes, moving from one place to another, leading additional militia to shore up more defensive locations – some civilians that are still evacuating –
Gladio notices some movement down one of the alleys. At the very far end, there’s this one guy, a big bear ‘taur, who’s gotten stuck under a half-collapsed building, and a wolf ‘taur wearing a Crownsguard trainee shirt is frantically trying to help tug him out.
And behind the wolf ‘taur, right in his blind spot, there’s an MT sneaking up on him.
No!
Gladio charges, leaving Iggy behind, and he leaps for the wall, using it to push himself off of and bringing the machete down on the MT’s neck, just like he would’ve if it was a practice doll back in the training grounds at home.
The wolf ‘taur spins around with a shout of surprise – the MT staggers back –
Gladio lands on the ground and swings for the MT’s knee.
The MT’s joint crackles when Gladio hits it, so he hits it again, and the MT falls over backwards; Gladio rushes forward and tries to stab it in the chest, but the MT swings its sword at him, though luckily it does it pretty slowly since it’s lying at such a bad angle, but it does mean that Gladio has to duck down around the sword to avoid it.
While the MT’s distracted, though, the wolf ‘taur leaps forward and buries a dagger into the MT’s chest control unit.
There’s a lot of sparks and crackling for a minute, but then the MT goes quiet and dark.
“Hey, he was mine,” Gladio protests.
“Don't worry, you definitely saved my life, kid; I just lent a hand in finishing it,” the wolf ‘taur says, then squints at him now that he’s got a good visual. “Wait a sec, what the hell, how old are you? Twelve?”
The guy thinks Gladio is twelve. Gladio proudly puffs up his fur a bit.
“He’s eight,” Iggy snaps from the shadows of the nearby building. “Gladio, get back here already!”
“Didja see what I did?” Gladio asks him.
“I did,” Iggy says. “And we need to get out of the way before more MTs come – they usually travel in groups, remember?”
“That’s right,” the wolf ‘taur says, running his hand through his braided hair, mouthing ‘eight’ to himself with a weird expression. “But Libertus is still trapped –”
Iggy, who was right in the middle of hissing to Gladio that he was going to march off back to the headquarters with or without Gladio and it’d better be with Gladio or he was telling his mom, suddenly freezes.
“Your friend’s name is Libertus?” he asks.
“Yeah,” the guy says, blinking at him. “And I’m Nyx.”
“Your friend’s name is Libertus,” Iggy says again, his voice sounding kind of weird. “And he’s a bear.”
“Uh. Yeah?”
“Has he ever considered introducing himself as Li-bear-tus?” Iggy asks.
Ugh, Gladio should’ve known it’d be something like that. Iggy loves puns.
Nyx snorts. “Um. No. But clearly he should.” His smile fades. “But I can’t get him out from under the rubble.”
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Iggy says. “You’re pushing on the wrong side – here, watch me –”
“Wait, no, hold up, I’m not letting an eight-year-old –” Nyx starts, but Iggy’s already gone hopping up the rubble.
“He’s actually only seven,” Gladio offers helpfully. “I’m a year older.”
Nyx covers his eyes. “Oh, Ramuh’s many beaks, I’m a terrible person. Accepting help from kitlings.”
“Hey! Don’t forget I’m the one who saved your life!”
“Watch out below!” Iggy calls, and does – something, Gladio’s not quite sure what, but somehow the entire building just falls apart, the spare wall sliding right off like it’s got wet clay under it, and suddenly Libertus is free and very surprised-looking about it.
“Libertus!” Nyx shouts, and leaps forward, helping his friend up. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m okay,” Libertus says, clapping Nyx’s shoulder. “It wasn’t weighing on me, it just squeezed too tight for me to get free, that’s all. How’re you?”
“Embarrassed,” Nyx says wryly, though Gladio’s not sure why. “But I’m okay. We need to get back to my house – my selena’s there –”
“Selena?” Iggy asks.
“My sister,” Nyx says. “Her name’s Hemera –” He bites his lip, looking just short of frantic. “I don’t know if she got out during the evacuation –”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Gladio asks. “The alarms –”
Nyx makes a face. “I don’t know if Selena even saw the evacuation alarms; she might not be looking. She’s deaf, you see, so she can't hear them – she usually sees the red flags when she looks out the window, or gets a visual text on her phone, but she stayed up all night doing her Crownsguard entrance exams, so she might still be asleep – we’ve been trying to get back to her since this whole thing started but –”
“We’ll help you,” Gladio says, aiming for a tone firm enough that no one will argue the way Iggy’s mom always manages.
Judging from the look on Iggy’s face, he knows exactly where Gladio got that tone from, and he’s not impressed.
“You’re just kids –” Nyx starts.
“Let ‘em come,” Libertus interrupts, shaking himself all over. “We don’t have time to argue - there are MTs on the way. We can drop ‘em off somewhere safe later. Let’s go.”
Iggy takes one look at him and leaps onto Libertus’ back, probably because he knows his little ibex legs aren't designed to keep up with a full run even if he was in good enough fitness for it, which he's not; Libertus doesn’t even notice and takes off at a galloping sort of run, Nyx and Gladio right behind them.
“The sky’s still clear,” Nyx says as they run.
“So what?” Gladio asks. He’s panting a little bit, but he’s still doing okay keeping up – his dad was totally right to insist on all of those endurance lessons.
“That means - the alarms - I don’t understand why the sea’s doing this! It’s going crazy like there’s a hurricane coming now – at first the tsunami alarms went off and I figured it was a freak event, and then I realized it was to warn us about the Niflheim attack rather than the weather – but now the sea is also going nuts –”
“Oh, that,” Gladio says. “That’s probably because of Leviathan.”
“Leviathan?”
“Yeah,” Gladio says. “She’s being summoned.”
“Wait, what?! Why would anyone do that? She’s not all that fond of humanity regularly!”
“Well,” Gladio says practically. “Would you want to be flying over those seas right now?”
“…point.”
They get back to a nice little house and Nyx barrels through the door, shouting Hemera’s name, which doesn’t seem to make sense since he told Gladio that she was deaf, but maybe it makes him feel better.
“She’s not here!” Libertus shouts. “Nyx!”
“You think she evacuated?”
“Does she look like you?” Iggy demands.
“What?”
“Your sister! Does she look like you?”
“Yes! Like me, a wolf 'taur, just with pale-colored fur on her lower half – do you see her?”
Iggy points across the street at what used to be a small corner store. The front of the building collapsed, and there’s a female wolf ‘taur beating frantically at the glass. Iggy's right: she does look like Nyx.
“Hemera!”
Nyx rushes over to try to pull away the rubble, but there’s too much. She starts moving her hands frantically – at first Gladio thinks she’s just panicking, but then he recognizes a few of the signs from when Prompto was young and didn’t talk much. It’s LSL, Lucian Sign Language. Well, it makes sense, since she’s deaf.
“What’s she saying?” he asks.
“She’s saying that there’s no way out,” Ignis translates, because of course he’s learned LSL. Gladio's going to have to do double-time just to catch up, isn't he? “The door is blocked and the windows are boarded up, and – oh dear – she says there’s a bomb in there!”
“A bomb?”
“I don’t know the word she uses before it –”
“Unexploded,” Nyx says shortly, working together with Libertus to try to move it. “So far, anyway. She says it’s about to go off.”
Hemera signs some more.
“An MT squadron came through here earlier,” Nyx translates, clearly functioning on automatic instinct. “They came to the house – she ran away to the store through the window – they blew up the door, but then the Crownsguard came and chased them out.” He pauses, suddenly struck by horror. “If they hadn’t been here…”
He goes quiet.
Gladio tries to tug at some of the rubble. If only Dad were here! Or Noct’s dad, he could’ve used the warping to jump, or maybe used his lightning power to blast straight through –
Gladio gets an idea.
It’s a terrible idea, but it’s starting to occur to him that he really doesn’t want to be out here, especially with poor Hemera all trapped and all the MTs coming and bombs dropping, but he knows they can’t leave without rescuing Hemera.
So maybe it’s worth a shot.
He tugs at Nyx’s pants. “Hey, hey,” he says. “Your shirt – you’re a Crownsguard trainee?”
“Well, technically I’m aiming for Galadh Coast Guard once I pass boot camp, but yeah,” Nyx says. “Why?”
“Have you done the whole oath-to-the-king thing?” Gladio demands.
“Uh, yeah – we did that when we joined –”
“What’re you thinking?” Iggy demands.
“I can do the channeling thing a little bit,” Gladio says. “The lightning and fire and stuff. Like Dad – he taught me how.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Iggy says, wringing his hands together. “You remember what he said –”
“Channeling?” Nyx interrupts, looking between them. “Channeling what?”
“Magic!”
“You can use magic?”
“It’s the King’s magic,” Gladio explains. “But I’m an Amicitia –”
“Glacian’s tits, he’s an Amicitia,” Libertus moans. That’s very rude.
Also, isn’t the swear for the Glacian ‘Glacian’s jewels’…? That's how Gladio's always heard it.
“– and I know how to channel it,” Gladio finishes, deciding to think about it later. “Well. With help.”
“Will it get us in there?” Nyx asks, getting straight to the point.
“I think so.”
Nyx crouches down next to Gladio. “Then how can I help?”
Gladio puts his hand on Nyx’s chest, right over his human heart the way he does with his Dad, and he focuses on the place inside of him where the magic comes. Dad told him that everyone who swears an oath to the King of Lucis has a direct line to the King’s magic; it’s just that most people can’t use it. But Amicitias can, and Gladio’s pretty sure Iggy will be able to, too, one day. He’s always been able to feel the magic.
“Hey, my chest is feeling warm,” Nyx says. “Is that normal?”
“You can feel that?” Iggy demands.
“Uh – yes, I think so – ”
“You can access the magic!” Gladio exclaims, surprised.
“Good,” Iggy says. “Then he can throw the fireball instead of you!”
“Fireball?” Libertus asks, sounding interested.
“Gladio, you know your dad said you shouldn't channel things like that until you were older,” Iggy says, ignoring him to focus on Gladio. “And not just because what you can do is dangerous, but because your body is too young to process the power properly –”
“I’ll do it,” Nyx says immediately. “Just tell me how.”
Gladio tells him.
Nyx nods, and stands. He signs something to Hemera, who nods and backs away, then he holds his hand behind him, like he’s going to throw something, closes his eyes and concentrates.
And then he throws his hand forward.
A giant fireball zips away from his hand and blasts into the door.
“Holy crap, Nyx!” Libertus exclaims.
Nyx is gaping. “I just did that. I just – I just did that –”
A second later, Hemera jumps out through the smoking pit of the door and rushes forward to embrace her brother. She’s a wolf, like Nyx, but where his wolf fur is dark greys and blacks, hers is a pale grey dappled with spots of white and tan.
Then the entire building explodes right behind her, sending them all staggering back.
“Hemera,” Nyx yelps, clutching at her tighter. “Oh, selena, my moon – it just – it –
She kisses him on the cheek, then pulls back and signs something.
“Yeah,” Nyx says, staring at the building. “You definitely told me so. That explosion is a bit more imminent than I thought you meant, that’s all.” He shudders. “If we didn’t get you out…if we hadn’t been able to open that door in time…”
She hugs him again, and even Gladio can interpret the next few signs as “but you did, so it’s okay.”
Nyx shakes his head. “I thought I’d lost you…”
Hemera smiles at him – and then suddenly the smile goes wicked, and she signs something else.
Nyx suddenly flushes bright red. “I didn’t steal children! They came to me! I don't even know where they came from!”
She signs some more, still grinning. Gladio mentally vows to learn LSL.
“Yes,” Nyx squawks. “Of course I’m planning to put them back!”
King Hasdrubal the Third of the lost and sunken Atlantioi, which apparently isn’t nearly as lost as it’s supposed to be – though Prompto does have to concede that it is, indeed, sunk – is an octopus ‘taur.
Which is pretty cool, Prompto hadn’t even known that ‘taurs came in pure aquatic forms before now. Sure, Cor told him about old Weskham the Walrus ‘taur, since he’d been an old friend of Noct’s dad and Gladio’s dad and he travelled around with them when Cor was just a kid, and he’d said something about there being plenty of aquatic-like mammal ‘taurs over in Accordo – bears and water shrews and otters and stuff, which is probably why the group that got sent to rescue them was composed of ‘taurs that were comfortable on both sea and land – but this is totally different.
Prompto never even imagined that there could be ‘taurs who were octopuses-es. Octopuses? Octopi?
“Is it octopuses or octopi?” he whispers to Noct, who shrugs.
“It’s actually ‘octopodes’,” King Hasdrubal says, which means Prompto’s whispering wasn’t as quiet as it might’ve been.
Oops.
“However, we generally prefer cephalopodaetaurs,” the king adds with a smile and a shrug, which itself is a complicated business involving all eight of his tentacles. “The cephalopodaetaurs have reigned in Atlantioi for generations – very nearly since the original sinking.”
Honestly, Prompto thinks this whole thing is really cool. They travelled by bubble. They arrived at a gigantic underwater city, made of stone and non-rusting steel and other things, and most of that was under a bubble, too, which meant that they could walk inside and breathe, even though there are all sorts of super-aquatic mammal ‘taurs like manatees and seals and even dolphins and whales everywhere.
So cool.
Noct thinks it’s pretty cool too, to judge by his grin.
“On that note,” Noct’s mom says in her best regal tone, “I believe I have some questions…”
King Hasdrubal holds up his hands (just the hands, not the tentacles), though, looking grave. “I understand,” he says. “We will have time to discuss many of them, including why we have lived in secret all these many years, whether we can open up diplomatic relations between our two nations, and what benefits we both might obtain from this meeting. But now is not the time: Leviathan has risen. Come – behold.”
He beckons them forward, so they all go forward – Prompto glances at Cor, who’s focused on the whole room, and then at the very nice hippopotamus ‘taur named Dido who nods encouragingly at him. She’s dark-skinned, like Maero and some of the Crownsguard and a good portion of the Galahdians and also King Hasdrubal, but the rest of the audience room – all filled with aquatic ‘taurs, like seals and walruses and hippos and otters and even manatees – is as diverse as Lucis, which is good.
Cor always says that he doesn’t trust people who discriminate by nationality, color or fur, and he especially hates people that try to pretend that all three are the same when they obviously aren’t. According to the pre-Solheim records they’ve found, people used to assume that where you were from said something about your color (presumably skin color, since they didn't have fur? weird - there's a lot more fur colors than there are skin colors), but anyway that was way back before Solheim, which had something called a Right of Travel or something, and everyone got all mixed up everywhere, and that’s how they stayed even after the radio-action of the Astral’s war made them all into ‘taurs and split them into separate countries again for the first time in generations.
So if these people don’t discriminate, that’s got to be a good sign, right?
Noct’s favorite is clearly Bomilcar, the capybara ‘taur, instead of Dido the hippopotamus ‘taur that Prompto thinks is amazing, but Bomilcar – who’s standing next to the throne – is nodding approvingly as well, so they go trotting up forward with the adults.
King Hasdrubal is gesturing at some sort of giant mirror, but Prompto’s attention gets a little distracted.
“I really like your parrot shrimp,” he tells him, pointing at the tank next to the throne.
“Giant mantis shrimp, actually,” Bomilcar says, smiling a little.
“That’s not giant, it’s barely the size of a parrot, I've seen bigger for eating –”
“Shhh,” Noct says, elbowing Prompto, and so Prompto turns to look at the mirror, which it turns out isn’t actually a mirror at all but some sort of television screen.
It shows the beach of Galahd, with all the Niflheim airships fleet above it, and the waters gone all raging and everything even though the sky is still barely catching up, cloud-wise. And then, from the churning waters of the deep, something massive breaks through the water’s surface.
Leviathan rises.
Leviathan has always been the least humanoid of the Astrals: the great and fearsome Tidemother, with the head of a serpent-dragon instead of a human torso, a long scaled neck and fins instead of a torso and arms, and her gigantic body underneath, with its long snake-like tail, the claw-like fins…
Huh. Maybe Prompto shouldn’t have been so surprised about aquatic ‘taurs after all, in the land famously sunk by Leviathan in a rage.
In the mirror, Leviathan’s snake-like head rears up dramatically, except of course the Niflheim airships are in the way and she promptly bonks her skull on the underside of one of the ships.
Prompto bursts into giggles, which in turn makes Noct – who was barely resisting before – do the same.
“It’s not funny, children,” Aulea says. “She’s a very dangerous goddess – Cor, are you laughing?”
“No,” Cor says, but he’s definitely smirking. “I am not laughing at the massive snake-goddess bonking her head like a tall person hitting the ceiling of a too-small room.”
“Technically, she hit an airship,” King Hasdrubal says, but he’s got an expression like he thinks it’s pretty funny, too.
And then one of the Niflheim ships – out of automatic reaction, or maybe out of stupidity – decides to fire on Leviathan.
“Oooh, bad idea,” Cor says.
“Very,” Aulea says.
“Oh dear,” King Hasdrubal says.
“This is gonna be awesome,” Noct says.
Leviathan turns and opens her mighty jaws. The airship is bigger than she can swallow, but she can grip it with her teeth and, with a strong toss of her head, fling it at one of the other airships – and, indeed, she does just that.
There’s a giant booming explosion when the two airships hit each other.
“Yaaaaay!” Prompto exclaims, leaping into the air and barking, his tail wagging furiously.
The last big airship turns to face her, leaving the smaller ships to the business of attacking Galahd.
Leviathan looks at them for a long moment, then suddenly the air is filled with streaming water spouts, all shaped like Leviathan –
“The other heads of the hydra!” Noct exclaims, clapping.
“He has to defeat – that?” Noct’s mom says faintly, watching the ship get ripped apart by the heads. "My baby?"
“Fun,” Cor says, but that’s because Prompto’s Cor is the best. “Can’t wait. How do we get her to come here, instead of where the Oracle is summoning her?”
“That will not be a problem,” King Hasdrubal say, and waves a hand. A handful of the retainers head off. After another minute of watching Leviathan screaming with rage at the Niflheim fleet ship she’s kicking the ass of, very effectively, there’s a big boom that shakes the room.
“What was that?” Noct’s mom yelps.
“An underwater concussion bomb,” King Hasdrubal says. “It will attract Leviathan’s attention – she has always paid special attention to Atlantioi.”
Sure enough, Leviathan turns away from savaging the Niflheim ship and slowly sinks beneath the waves again, although her watery secondary heads continue to wreak some serious havoc.
“Hey, why’re her other heads hitting the buildings on shore?” Prompto asks, frowning at the mirror. “She’s not just hitting the Niflheim ships.”
“Leviathan does not like ‘taurkind,” King Hasdrubal says solemnly. “She hasn’t since before the fall of Solheim – it was only her notion of duty that kept her in line with Bahamut and the others against the insurrection of Ifrit. That is why wise ‘taurs fear to raise her, for, like the coeurls of the Galahd interior, she attacks them indiscriminately. That is why it is unwise to summon her.”
“We were aware of that,” Cor says dryly. “We thought it worth the risk, especially since we needed to raise her anyway for the Covenant.”
“Which, it occurs to me, you still haven’t explained how you know about,” Noct’s mom says pointedly. “Or about Noctis.”
“Our connection with the sleeping and now-risen Leviathan is closer than other lands,” King Hasdrubal says. “She speaks to us, sometimes: she spoke of the end – the coming of the Chosen King – and six years ago, she said, in a tone that shook the sea, ‘He is Come At Last.’”
“The sea shook on your birthday?” Prompto asks Noct, duly impressed. “I thought you just had a star in the sky.”
“Cool,” Noct says. “Must’ve been uncomfortable to be in, though. Like being in a bottle of water that someone's holding while they're running or something.”
“It was fine, though I appreciate your concern,” King Hasdrubal says, sounding a bit strangled – kinda like the way adults sound when they’re trying not to laugh. “Perhaps you should bend your mind towards your upcoming meeting, young Chosen King.”
“Prince,” Noct says crossly. “My Dad’s still around, you know.”
“She is coming,” Bomilcar says, looking at the mirror. “We should go to the Goddess’ Balcony.”
The Goddess’ Balcony turns out to be just a regular old balcony, looking out from the palace over a giant stadium, except with no roof and one giant wall missing, which makes a lot more sense once Leviathan slithers down to fill the space.
Then the place becomes positively cosy. Leviathan is very large.
“You seek the Covenant, Chosen King,” she says, her hissing voice deep and booming and coming from all directions.
“Prince!” Noct exclaims.
Leviathan blinks her big eyes at him, clearly not having expected that response.
“My Dad’s still alive,” Noct says, crossing his arms. “That makes me a prince, not a king. Duh.”
In Prompto's view, Noct has a point there.
“You are…” Leviathan hesitates. “Younger than I was expecting you to be.”
“We decided not to wait,” Cor puts in. He seems relaxed, but his hand is on his sword. “Didn’t seem like it’d do any good, waiting for a tragedy to come.”
Leviathan considers this for a moment, then shakes her mighty head. “It matters not. You dare to summon me –”
“Technically Luna summoned you,” Noct points out. “And she’s the Oracle; it’s kinda her job, isn’t it?”
“That is beside the point! You dare demand the power of a goddess!”
“It’s in the Prophecy,” Noct protests. “It’s not my fault that I have to come talk with all of you! Take it up with Bahamut if you’re angry! He's the one who predicted it!”
Leviathan hisses at him, which Prompto thinks is very rude.
“You are weak,” she says disdainfully. “Weak and unworthy – no more than an insignificant speck!”
Noct takes a step back. He looks like his feelings have been hurt.
“That’s not nice,” Prompto says. He doesn't like it when people hurt Noct's feelings.
“There is nothing in you that is worthy of my power,” Leviathan spits. “Small and stupid, like all of your kind – forgetting your place, for my power is as far beyond you as I am – even if you had waited as you ought, until the fullness of time, you would never have defeated me!”
“That’s really not nice.”
“Pathetic,” Leviathan sneers. “Just like all of humanity –” That’s an archaic word, as old as pre-Solheim when people used to actually be humans rather than 'taurs; the preferred word now is ‘taurkind. “– you, little Chosen one, are nothing more than a waste of space, a waste of time, one which should never have been born –”
She stops abruptly.
After a moment, she says, in a very different tone of voice, that very same sort of adult-strangled-maybe-kinda-trying-not-to-laugh voice that King Hasdrubal had earlier, “What does the puppy think he is doing?”
“He appears to be biting your fin,” Cor says. He’s taken his hand off his sword because he’s put his face in his hands – Prompto can just see it over where his mouth is filled with fin from where he’s leaped over the balcony, his both sets of paws scrabbling for balance on her slick scales. Luckily, she’s big enough that he’s able to find some hold with his fingers and all four paws. “Ma’am.”
“I…see. And why is he doing this?”
“I think he’s trying to get you to stop speaking in that manner to Prince Noctis,” Noct’s mom says. She also has her face in her hands. Maybe it’s a grown-up thing? “Prompto, please come back.”
Prompto releases the fin. “No!” he barks. “She was being mean. You’re not supposed to be mean to people! They said so in kindergarden!”
“That doesn’t mean you can bite them, Prompto,” Cor says, sounding long-suffering. “We’ve had this conversation before. Remember pre-school? I thought we were over this. No biting people.”
Prompto turns to look at him, putting his hands on his hips – his paws slip a bit when he does, but Leviathan catches and steadies him with another one of her fins, and that makes it much easier to stand. “You said that people need to be kind to each other,” he says fiercely. “Kindness among ‘taurs – that’s the only way we’ll ever be good people. You have to try to be nice, even when you’re upset, because you don’t know what other people’s lives are like. The only time it’s okay to be mean is when you see someone attacking people who are weaker than they are, because that makes them bullies, and bullies have to be stopped. And she was being mean to Noct for no reason even though she's much stronger!”
“You have a very loyal companion, young Prince,” Leviathan says to Noct.
“Prompto’s the best,” Noct says, frowning at her. “But he’s right, you know. You’re a goddess, aren’t you? Then why are you being so mean? You’re so much more powerful than we are, and powerful people attacking weak people – well, Prompto's right. that just makes you a bully.”
“The Tidemother is not a bully,” King Hasdrubal says, sounding vaguely horrified.
Noct crosses his arms. “Well?” he says to Leviathan. “Are you a bully or not? Because you’re being awfully nasty, and all the ‘taurs up in Galahd and in the Port and even back at home, they all celebrate you once every year, and I don’t know why they do that if you don’t even like any of them.”
“Humanity is weak,” Leviathan says, but she sounds almost puzzled.
“So?” Prompto says. “Lots of people are weak. I’m weak.”
“You are anything but weak, Prompto,” Cor says, clearly functioning on automatic, because Cor doesn't let Prompto say nasty things about himself, not ever. “Your inability to lift more than thirty pounds at a given time is just because your muscle tone is underdeveloped – it doesn’t say anything about you.”
“That’s not the point, though,” Noct says. Noct understands what Prompto means, he always does, even when Cor sometimes gets confused; that’s why Prompto loves Noct the absolute best and that’s why they’re gonna get married when they grow up. “What he means is – so what if ‘taurs are weak? That doesn’t change how you should act. Both a bully and a hero have power: the difference between them is that a bully uses his power to be mean to people who are weaker, while a hero uses his power to protect them.”
He glares up at Leviathan.
“This is nothing to do with us,” he says. “This is all to do with you. My dad always says that who you are isn’t something that’s the same all the time, from birth. Who you are is shown by the choices you make, every day, and it’s always up to you in the end whether you’re going to stand tall and be good, or if you’re not. Which one are you, Leviathan?”
Huh, now even King Hasdrubal has his face in his hands. Definitely a grown-up thing.
But then the fin under Prompto’s paws starts to shake and he has to leap back to the scales to try to get a handhold so he doesn’t fall. That means it takes a few seconds for him to figure how what’s happening.
Leviathan is laughing.
“You speak the truth, young Prince,” she says. “If you had appealed to me on behalf of humanity at large, I would have repelled you – I would have attacked, for I care nothing of the humanity which built for itself the greatest monuments and then in their recklessness and weakness destroyed them, humanity which hurts and injures and destroys each other and also the world in which they live in without care for the consequences. But you ask me to judge myself, lest I myself repeat in myself the behaviors which have led me to despise humanity.”
She shakes her giant snake-liked head.
“I will not be like those I despise,” she says. “I will be better than they, even to those who I do not think deserve it. You may have my blessing, young Prince.”
Noct blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Huh. Cool. Really? That's cool.”
“Out of the mouth of babes,” Leviathan says, sounding long-suffering.
“Hey!” Noct yelps. “I’m not a baby!”
“You’re my baby,” Noct’s mom says firmly. “Now take the win and say thank you to the – uh – to the nice goddess.”
“Thank you,” Noct says obediently.
“Yeah, thanks,” Prompto says, and pats her scales. “Maybe you’re not a bully after all. And it was really cool what you did with the airships – especially that part where you threw one into the other and they went BOOM!”
“I concur, young companion. That was indeed very, ah, cool,” Leviathan says. She still sounds amused, and then she gently rears up and turns her fin diagonally so that Prompto tumbles back down onto the balcony. “Go well, little one – and believe in your guardian. You are not weak.”
“Awww, thanks,” Prompto says.
“However, your jaw strength is indeed very weak. Do not bite people in the future.”
“Oh, fine,” Prompto grumbles. No one seems to appreciate it when he bites people.
“Maybe it’ll actually stick this time,” Cor says with a sigh, gathering Prompto into his arms. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, though.
Leviathan chuckles again and withdraws from the watery stadium, and she settles her great form down into a gigantic ditch until her head is fully hidden and all that can be seen is a positive mountain of scales.
The water goes quiet.
"Leviathan has return to her slumber," King Hasdrubal said. He sounded impressed.
Prompto wags his tail hopefully. “Does that mean we can go home now?” he asks.
“Yes,” Noct’s mom says. “And we are never doing that again.”
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Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
“He’s going to be all right,” Clarus tells the children: Luna, who’s still shaking and hugging herself, and Ignis, who’s gone far too still, and Prompto, who hasn’t stopped crying even if he’s run out of noise to make, and Gladio, whose expression of blankness Clarus knows all too well. He feels it too, every time Regis gets himself hurt: that soul-scorching feeling of failure, of emptiness, consumed entirely by the thought that he did not do what he should have and put himself between his King and the dangerous world.
Clarus would have kept Gladio from knowing that feeling for many years yet, if he could.
“He’s been in surgery for hours,” Ignis says, uncharacteristically exaggerating – but not by much. “That indicates the wound was serious.”
“His back,” Clarus says, because they deserve to know. “He was hurt badly, and he’ll probably have to use a wheelchair for a long while, but the doctors say that they think he’ll make a full recovery.”
He hesitates, because there was more that they said – medicine is all well and good, after all, but as far as the doctors all know, the Oracle is off in Tenebrae and they suggested a visit there once Noctis could be moved, to help heal him further with her magic. In reality, of course, they don’t need to go to Tenebrae for that; they have an Oracle with them already. But Lunafreya is still shaking –
“I can help,” Luna says, understanding already. “When – when the doctors are done. I know a little of what my mother does.”
“Doesn’t that drain you?” Ignis asks sharply. “I won’t see you get hurt.”
“Iggy –”
“No. Isn’t Noctis being hurt enough?”
Ignis’ own ankle is in a walking boot all the way down the hoof, having twisted when he fell from his Chocobo in the fracas, and Gladio’s arm is bandaged from a nasty cut he got when he charged one of the daemons and they swiped at him with their sword, but neither of them count those as injuries next to what happened to Noctis.
Proper warriors already, Clarus thinks sadly; he wishes it wasn’t so.
“Luna, the doctors don’t want him treated with magic until they feel like the inflammation has gone down and there’s no chance of fevers,” Clarus says. “We would be very grateful to you for your help at a later point in time, in measured intervals, but we will not let you hurt yourself trying to make Noctis better. Is that clear?”
“But –”
“That is final, Lunafreya.”
She clenches her teeth, but nods.
“Can we see him?” Prompto asks, his voice thready and raspy from all of his tears. “Please?”
“Not yet,” Clarus says. “As soon as we can, you will.”
It takes another three days before Noctis is well enough to speak to anyone, though the doctors prefer he use a phone rather than permit potentially rambunctious children to enter, and a full week before – after swearing to behave – they are allowed in.
Prompto scarcely leaves Noctis’ side after that, with Gladio and Ignis taking turns to go fetch whatever they can think of to make him smile: books, and plushies, and video games of all sorts. Luna is there, too, quite often, though they have to supervise her visits after the first few times she tries to further heal him unsupervised and works herself into a migraine that she then tries unsuccessfully to hide.
Nyx and Hemera and Libertus come visit with old Galahdian remedy soups that they swear on every Astral out there that they’ve made “mild” and positively “bland”, although Noctis’ face still turns bright red upon eating them. According to the Galadhians, that's a normal reaction to the chilis and peppers and a sign that the soup is working.
Scientia sighs at them and shows up with soft, freshly-baked bread and rice balls and other food that is actually bland, but somehow still utterly delicious - Clarus knows this because she makes enough to share, not because he's been stealing from an injured child, thank you.
Regis continues to carry on forward, because he is the King and he must, but Clarus feels like his dearest friend aged five years in a single afternoon. His limp is heavier, his walk slower; his head is bowed more often; he frowns more. When Clarus thinks of what could have happened if Cor and the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive hadn’t been there – if Regis hadn’t yielded and permitted Noctis to start training as a fighter from an abnormally young (for everyone but Cor) age – he shudders.
As it is, everyone is taking this badly. Cor was defending Noctis and the other children, and he only left his post for a split second – and even accounting for the cost to Noctis, that second was well-spent, in Clarus’ mind, because his intervention was the only reason that Aulea survived the battle instead of dying on a daemon’s sword – but it means that Aulea is tormented by the thought that her own injuries or lack of fighting prowess was what led to her son’s injury, and that Cor hasn’t forgiven himself for his inability to be in two places at once.
Because of that, Cor walks around with tension in his eyes, trains his people harder, and goes off for a week on his own to return with another Royal Arm which he refuses to let Noctis absorb until he feels up to it. He even sits and tells Noctis the whole story of how he got it from a dungeon behind a waterfall in the center of an ice-cave, listing for his amusement the taxonomy of all the species of daemon he encountered and slew in the process.
Clarus resists the urge to strangle Cor primarily due to the fact that his (highly mechanical) account of his battle with three mindflayers and two ronin keep the children, including Noctis, so enraptured that they actually forget about Noctis’ injury for an entire afternoon.
Cyrella’s approach to cheering people up has been perhaps the most effective – she drops baby Iris into their arms, thereby causing everyone to immediately forget what they are doing – but it’s not sustainable.
At least Noctis is healing, Clarus reminds himself. Perhaps when he has fully healed – if he fully heals – they will be able to move on and become healed themselves.
Clarus certainly hopes so, anyway.
It’s been seven months, now, and yet everyone seems…frozen.
Luna rushes by him in the hall, her deer legs making the hurried leaps look almost like a dance, and her eyes are red with crying again.
Clarus considers his schedule – several meetings with some nobles on matters that on paper appear significant enough for him to agree to meet but which in all likelihood are simply covers to interrogate him as to the health of the Prince, like the gossipy vultures they are – and decides to follow Luna instead.
By the time he finds her, though, padding silently after her, she's already found someone to comfort her: Gentiana, the Oracle's Messenger. The Messenger splits her time between the two Oracles, which seems appropriate enough, and she's remarkably good at remaining out of sight when she doesn't think she's needed; most of time, Clarus even forgets that she's there.
Honestly, all things considered, Clarus prefers Umbra, the Messenger which has taken the shape of a dog, but he thinks that might be rude to say. Gentiana is, he assumes, entirely normal for a Messenger, and beautiful to boot, but he can't help it: she gives him the shivers, and not in a good way. She's too eerie for that.
"It will be well, my Oracle," Gentiana is saying in her whispery voice. "The Prince heals even now."
"I know that," Luna sobs, clearly unappeased. "He's getting better every week – every month – little by little - I know it'll take time -"
"Then what is the cause for your tears?"
"Everything!"
"What do you mean?"
"If only I was a better Oracle, I could heal him the way Mother could," Luna says, her voice muffled from the way her face is pressed into Gentiana's side. "And then King Regis wouldn't look like someone stabbed him, and Scientia wouldn't be doubting her decisions, and Iggy wouldn't be throwing himself into those etiquette books like if he only studies enough he could go back in time and keep it from happening, and Gladio wouldn't be training himself at night even when it hurts him –"
Clarus didn't know that. That's no good; he'll have to put a stop to that.
"– and Cor goes out and does stupid things, and anytime Prompto isn't with Noctis he just goes quiet and that's just wrong and poor Aulea is always thinking that she did something bad just by not dying and Cyrella watches over baby Iris like she thinks something is going to happen to her and Clarus roams the hallways like he thinks he can guard everyone –"
He does?
Clarus considers his own actions these past few months.
Yes. He does.
"And Nyx and the others are all kicking themselves and –"
"Many are wounded when one they love is hurt," Gentiana interrupts gently before Luna goes on and names everyone in the Citadel. "You cannot cure that, my Oracle; not even with the purity of your light."
"I bet Mother could," Luna mutters mutinously.
"She could not. The Prince heals –"
"It's my fault!" Luna exclaims.
Gentiana blinks, taken aback. Clarus, standing some distance off and – he'll admit it – blatantly eavesdropping, blinks as well. How in the world did Luna reach that conclusion?
"It was not your presence which summoned the daemons," Gentiana points out. "The attack was aimed at Noctis."
"No, it wasn't," Luna sniffs, wiping at her face. "I looked at the security tapes from Wiz's –"
How did she get access to those?!
"– and they didn't try to kill Noctis after they hurt him. There was a moment – they could have – but they didn't and that was long enough for Cor to come back. I think they were trying to kill Aulea, and maybe a few of Noctis' friends. I think they weren't trying to kill us, they were trying to hurt us – I think they were trying to make us freeze up, just like we have!"
Clarus doesn't disagree. Cor said the same about the daemons’ behavior, right after the battle – hollow-eyed and guilty but sure of himself as he always is when it comes to war – and while Regis dismissed his words at the time, too worried about Noctis to see past that, Clarus doesn't think he's changed his mind about it, and there's no one who knows battle the way Cor does.
Clarus wouldn't have listened, either, in view of the evidence – Noctis was the only one hurt so badly – but Cyrella was there, too, his lovely warrior of a wife, and she said the same thing about the pause. Clarus reviewed the tapes himself, and reached the same conclusion: Noctis’ death was not the aim.
He hadn’t been sure what the aim was, except that he agreed that the daemons were far more aggressively pursuing Aulea and the other children – with intent to kill, the way they weren’t for Noctis.
But it hadn’t occurred to him that the goal of it might have been to ensure their paralysis. It’s an interesting insight, and one worth serious consideration.
“But that still does not make it your fault, little Oracle,” Gentiana says.
Luna’s sobs start up again. “But it is, Gentiana. I saw him.”
Gentiana’s eyes narrow even as Clarus’ head goes up in interest.
“Him?”
“There was a ‘taur there, a leopard ‘taur,” Luna says. “Standing by the building, watching everyone and smiling – he looked like a snake – well, no, snakes are nice, Iggy loves snakes –”
Ignis has in fact been petitioning for a pet snake for nearly a year now. Scientia is holding the line firm for the moment, but Clarus is concerned that she’ll crack and then everyone will want to play with the snake, and then next thing he knows Gladio will be asking for a snake of his own which - no. Absolutely not.
“He had shadows,” Luna bursts out after a few moments of contemplation. “I should’ve said something – I should’ve done something –”
Gentiana puts her hands on both sides of Luna’s face. “You have seen the Accursed,” she says.
“I don’t know if it’s him,” Luna says miserably. “But I should have – if I had –”
“If you had, no one would have understood,” Clarus says, stepping fully into the room at last. Luna looks at him, and Gentiana as well – the latter clearly unsurprised by his presence. “It is not your fault, Luna. You did not understand, we would not have understood, and there was nothing that could be done about it.”
Luna swallows thickly. “You think so?”
“I know it,” he says firmly, coming forward and putting a hand on her back. Gentiana nods slightly in approval. “Noctis will heal, and we will move forward. If this ‘taur is the Accursed – and we don’t know if he was, remember; he could have just been afflicted with the Starscourge, as too many 'taurs are these days – then we have an advantage now: we might be able to figure out who he is. But his aims will fail, for we will not stop.”
“Won’t we?” Luna asks bitingly. “Have we made any plans to go forward for any other Covenants?”
Clarus hesitates. “Cor is still going off to obtain the Arms,” he points out.
“And Noctis isn’t being allowed to absorb them!” Luna shoots back. “It’s the Astrals that he’s worried about, clearly – he must have found out what happened with Leviathan, and that’s why he is trying to stop us, and we are being stopped so it’s working –”
“Noctis needs time to heal,” Clarus says, but it sounds weak even to him.
“We’re not even making plans!” she exclaims. “It’s for a good reason – we all love Noctis, of course we do – but it’s freezing us – it’s playing right into his hands –”
“That is not so,” Gentiana says, and there’s a strange sort of fierceness in her face. “Love for one’s friends is a strength, not a weakness – and your quest yet continues, even though you do not know it. Come, my Oracle; we will go to the Prince and you shall see.”
And with that, Gentiana begins trotting towards Noctis’ bedroom, head held high and Luna and Clarus drawn along inexorably in her wake.
Clarus is – not entirely sure what is going on, actually. Messengers are only supposed to carry out the will of the Oracle – that’s why they’re called Messengers. Yet Gentiana is clearly not acting under orders from either Luna or Sylvia, but moving entirely on her own.
Luna looks equally bewildered.
There’s noise coming from Noctis’ room.
Prompto is barking, “Snow! There’s snow!”
Clarus frowns as he enters the room right behind Gentiana. “What do you mean, there’s –”
He stops, staring.
Regis points mutely out the window, where, in fact, there is snow.
In summer.
Aulea is staring. Cyrella is staring. The children are having paroxysms of joy – they’re all there, three guests dancing by the windows and even Noctis sitting up in the bed and clapping wildly, a giant grin on his face – and Nyx and Libertus and Hemera are sitting on the floor and staring, too. Baby Iris, currently in Cyrella’s arms, is not staring, but that’s because she doesn’t really care about much yet, being still a baby.
The only two people present not looking out the window are Cor and Scientia, and they’re staring instead at Clarus and Luna.
No, not at them. At Gentiana, who is walking up to the bed, her eyes fixed on Noctis.
“Young Chosen King,” she says, and her voice rings in the air. The temperature in the room abruptly drops considerably, and Gentiana – changes.
That is not a Messenger, is Clarus’ first thought, as stupid a thought as it is – stupid, because he knows exactly who that is.
Everyone knows that graceful form: the blue-tinted skin shining with an internal light until it glimmers white, the silver jewels and the silver hair, the purple lips and eyes, the pointed elf-like ears, the long graceful body of the Ceryneian Hind, the legendary White Hart that shines with the light of the silver moon upon the ice of the frozen river and the untouched field of newly fallen snow.
The Glacian.
Shiva.
“Young Chosen King, know this: you are lucky in your friends, who love you so,” Shiva says, and her eyes glow purple – and for just a moment, Noctis’ own eyes glow the same. “You have my blessing and my Covenant, young Chosen one. Now become strong once more and walk forward into destiny, knowing that you bear with you their love and loyalty: the greatest gift of all.”
She leans down and presses her lips to Noctis’ forehead, and then – really, there’s only one way to describe it – explodes into a shower of snowflakes.
Everyone stares as the room slowly clears.
Shiva is gone.
“Wait,” Gladio suddenly says, breaking the silence. “Is that why Libertus says ‘Glacian’s tits’ instead of –”
“Gladiolus!” Cyrella yelps. “Watch your language!”
“Oh fuck,” Libertus says, then turns bright red. “Uh, I mean – oh crap – no, wait –”
The entire room bursts out laughing. Somewhat hysterically.
“Three for three,” Cor says to Scientia.
“What’s that mean?” Clarus asks, having edged over to them. Luna has thrown herself over to Noctis, who looks much better – healthier, bright-eyed, and much more animated than he has been, the fear of the attack seeping out of him as he glows with the remaining effects of the Glacian’s blessing. She’s talking avidly about Gentiana, waving her hands in the air excitedly. “Three for three Astrals?”
“No,” Scientia says, rolling her eyes. “Three for three Astral Covenants achieved through what Cor here has been calling ‘the power of friendship.’”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clarus objects. “That’s only a thing in children’s stories or television shows.”
Cor looks him in the eyes. He solemnly lifts a finger. “Noctis’ lessons with Bahamut and, according to Luna, the covenant was achieved upon making friends with him through playing thumb war.” Another finger. “Leviathan with Prompto, jointly lecturing the goddess about being nice to people, as learned in kindergarden.” A third finger. “Shiva just said explicitly that she was giving hers because Luna demonstrated how much Noctis is beloved. Ergo: three out of three.”
Clarus covers his face. “Oh Six,” he says. “We really are trapped in a children’s novel, aren’t we?”
“Did you really expect anything else from a Prophecy announced when Noctis was four?” Scientia says, then shakes her head. “Well, at least we can now start planning on going for either Titan or Ramuh next, and we don’t have to go all the way to Niflheim to try to commune with the Glacian’s corpse in the Ghorovas Rift.”
“Now that is good news,” Clarus says, brightening. “Also, should – should something be done about the snow?” He nods at the window, where it’s still coming down.
“Yes,” Regis says, coming over to them. “We should.”
They all look at him.
He grins, looking younger already: still older than he looked before the accident, but not so old and tired as he has been looking these last few months.
“I was thinking snowmen,” Regis says. “Or snowball fights.”
“Snow angels!” Noctis shouts from his bed, and insists on being taken out in his wheelchair for just that purpose.
As they all head outside, Clarus hangs back to take a look at Umbra. "Good boy," he murmurs to the dog, reaching out to scratch him under the chin as he's found Umbra likes best, "you'd tell me if you're hiding anything like that, right?"
Umbra barks and wags his tail, which Clarus very sincerely hopes means 'don't worry about it.'
(He's really not sure he can handle another Astral hiding inside the supposedly secured Citadel.)
It starts, like so many of these things do, by accident.
Apollonia Scientia is a lawyer by both profession and inclination; her career is, next to her son and certain recipes she developed herself, the pride and joy of her life. It provides her with fascinating factual scenarios, mysteries to delight her mind, and the opportunity to acquaint herself with a wide range of interesting people – her present circle of friends being among those.
Apollonia does not deceive herself: she is not precisely the sort of person who makes or keeps friends easily. She is, by all general measurements, a genius: her brain moves fast (too fast) and she requires regular variety to feed it. Her conversation, when relaxed, has a tendency to jump tracks and speed ahead in what others have called a confusing manner; her alternative approach is slower, but has a tendency to come off (to others) as arrogant.
This does not make her many friends.
But as to her career: ah! She is widely respected, and her advice is sought after throughout Insomnia, and even Lucis beyond. It is entirely satisfactory a trade for her, and she would not give away her unique way of thinking for the world.
She will concede, however, that she sometimes has difficulty turning it off.
Usually this is quite helpful – she can work late into the night without complaint – but she has, at times, been found that others consider her to be something of a bore when she explains something quite simple in too complex or technical a manner.
And she reads everything.
She knows very well that it is rather impolite of her to buzz around other people's desks – shockingly impolite, really, enough to make her mind start murmuring about invasions of privacy and trespass law – but when she has made the mistake of forgetting her work tablet back at the office (she didn't forget it, she lent it to Demetrius because he needed something with admin access and he hasn’t given it back, possibly in a misguided attempt to get her to relax - as if that's his responsibility as a junior partner, which it is most certainly not) and got herself settled in to watch the children with only a mystery novel to entertain herself (she finishes it in half an hour – very disappointing end, she guessed who it was at once and there was no proper set up for the culprit whatsoever), she find herself growing rather desperate for, well, anything to do.
"Would you like some help with that?" she asks Hemera Ulric, who is a charming girl (not as charming as her own Luna, of course, though really Apollonia must do better at remembering that Luna is not, in fact, hers) and who was kind enough to offer to do some of her paperwork in the playroom to keep Apollonia company.
Hemera likes children a great deal. Apollonia – and she knows that it's rude – assumes that her deafness helps a great deal in this regard.
Not all children, she has found, are as mature and voluntarily well-mannered as her Ignis.
Hemera is also, however, rather awful at paperwork, so perhaps she came less out of a desire to help watch over the children than a far more reasonable desire to receive assistance – Apollonia helped her brother Nyx with his paperwork last week due to a similar boredom-related situation – and the theory is no sooner thought than borne out, judging by how quickly and gratefully Hemera hands over the documents.
It is a mutually agreeable situation: Hemera has the assistance she desires, and Apollonia has something to do, and they are able to sit in peace together to quietly supervise as the children play some sort of racing game (fourth edition, multiplayer, design-your-own-car – Apollonia has already read all the rules from the set-up guide, twice).
At least Hemera's paperwork has the benefit of being far more interesting that her brother's: as an accommodation for her deafness, she gets transcripts of meetings (apparently people have trouble remembering to look at her and speak clearly, which doesn’t seem like it’s all that hard), and she apparently has a habit of printing out her emails to assist in filling out her paperwork.
There’s no reason to read it all, of course, but Apollonia can’t resist her deeply engrained lawyer’s habits.
After all, one of the lesser-known aspects of law is, of course, the nigh-endless review of documents: listening to recorded phone calls, reviewing emails, checking meeting minutes, confirming calendars...nothing escapes the fine-toothed comb of the investigating lawyer, and no lawyer worth their salt (whether barrister, solicitor, or general lawyer) escapes the eternal grinding process of looking through thousands and thousands of them that constitutes a major part of the life of a young lawyer.
Perhaps it's that experience. Perhaps it's intuition. Perhaps it's that genius brain, unable to turn off even in moments of relaxation.
Whatever it is, Apollonia finds herself slowing as she fills in Hemera's weekly report – slower and slower – until she finally stops, the work incomplete.
"Is there a problem?" Hemera signs at her, looking anxious. "Something I can help with?"
"No," Apollonia says, frowning down at the paperwork. She can't quite put her finger on what's bothering her – something about the meeting transcript, perhaps, since it's raw machine transcription of live events, not human-derived, and therefore less filtered.
She has read many meeting minutes in her time, and even more transcriptions of phone calls. There's nothing wrong here, no; nothing obviously wrong. On a surface read, everything is just fine – even on a deeper read, one would be hard pressed to explain to anyone why there is anything problematic in here.
And yet.
Apollonia's experience has shown her that explicitly incriminating statements – smoking guns, as they're often called – are rare, and wrongful innuendo far more common. But, of course, identifying what, exactly, constitutes wrongful innuendo is a mighty task: people who know they are being recorded tend towards caution, though never as much caution as they truly need to have, and it is only through the intensive process of review and re-review that the truth can be gleaned by those with the wit (and the mandate) to find it.
This is assuming, of course, that there even is some sinister truth here to be had, which there might not be. The records are fine. There is nothing here that she can point to and say shows a definitive sign of a problem.
And yet.
Apollonia checks her watch – yes, good, it's just the time she thought it was – and belatedly answers Hemera's question. "No problem at all. Hemera, could you watch the children for a few minutes? I want to go ask someone a question."
"No problem," Hemera signs, looking deeply confused.
"And can I borrow these?"
"Go ahead."
Apollonia gathers up the paperwork and trots off, her hooves clopping on the tiled floor.
She finds Regis, Aulea, and Clarus in Regis' office, as she expected – they always retreat for a short planning meeting in between the afternoon sessions.
They all look up when she lets herself in.
"I was looking through some Kingsglaive paperwork earlier," she says, forgoing both greeting and small talk. She's never seen the point in any of that; it does nothing but impede a person from getting what they want out of a conversation quickly and efficiently for the benefit of both sides.
"You really need to stop doing their paperwork for them," Aulea says, because the Queen is very sharp and very observant. "They already like you, you know."
"I need something to do when I lack work," Apollonia says firmly. Sharp as she is, some things Aulea simply does not understand; the fact that Apollonia would never demean herself by trading work for friendship is one of them. The truth is, she really does get that bored. "Demetrius seems intent on not letting me take my cases out of the office; I suspect a plot. However, that is not what’s important here."
"Oh?" Regis says, pressing his lips together in a badly suppressed smile. "What is important then?"
"I would like your approval to start pulling documents for an internal investigation," Apollonia says.
They all blink at her.
"...into what?" Clarus asks. He's suspicious of lawyers. Apollonia can't blame him - as First Minister, most of the lawsuits against the government ultimately come to him to ask questions about government activity.
"Is there something wrong with Hemera's paperwork?" Regis asks. He's sharp, too.
"Not yet," Apollonia says. Whatever moments of hesitation she might have had, she had before coming to this room; she does not second-guess herself, as a general rule. "There's nothing in there that is explicitly problematic. But having conducted quite a few internal investigations, I think – I believe – that there might be something in there."
"Something significant enough to do an internal investigation?" Clarus asks skeptically. "Those are expensive – disruptive – interviews and lawyers everywhere – bothering everyone -"
"I was thinking something a touch more discreet," Apollonia says dryly. "Emails, phone records, meeting minutes – focusing the initial review on documents instead of interviews. Minimal disruption involved: in fact, ideally, the individuals in question need not even be aware that an investigation is ongoing. And, of course, it may ultimately be nothing. I admit that I'm acting primarily on instinct."
"Your instinct?" Regis says, arching his eyebrows. "My dear, that's as good as gold to me. You have my permission to proceed – Clarus, can you see to it that she gets what she needs?"
"Will do," Clarus says. Apollonia is pleased: his tone indicates that he does not disagree with Regis' decision, and Aulea is nodding as well. "You'll need to keep us updated with what you find –"
"If anything," Apollonia interjects.
"- and when you find what it is you're looking for," he concludes, arching his own eyebrows at her. She wonders if he got the expression from Regis or vice versa; regardless, his words are an excellent expression of his confidence in her (she trusts she will bear it out) that comes from their now years of working together.
"How expansive a review do you want to do?" Aulea asks, already focusing on the logistics. "The military generally? High level officers? One of the specific branches? Or –"
"The Kingsglaive," Apollonia says, and even as she says it, it feels right. She's on the right track, wherever that track may lead. "I want to investigate the Kingsglaive."
Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
“You’ve really gotten quite good at this tomb raiding business, Cor,” Clarus says, reclining on one of the couches in Regis’ sitting room and snacking on some grapes.
Cor, on one of the other couches, just grunts. He’s been in a sour mood recently.
“No, really,” Clarus persists. “There’s only, what, three left?”
“Four, I think,” Regis says. He’s been pacing the room again, but that’s fair enough, in Clarus’ mind – the Archaead is coming up quickly, and after the near-disaster of the Fulgariad, it’s no wonder that he’s stressed. He nearly murdered Clarus and Cor both when they came back after that, even though Cor encouraging the kids to head out of the main group was probably the only reason the kids managed to escape the vast majority of the battle. Still, that was nothing next to Scientia’s reaction… “The Mace of the Fierce, which we believe to be in the Rock of Ravatogh; the Blade of the Mystic, which we think is in the Disc of Cauthess; the Katana of the Warrior, which we think isn’t even in Lucis at all –”
“Cyrella said something about the records hinting about it being in Succarpe,” Clarus volunteers, happy to be distracted by questions of tomb-raiding.
“And lastly, there’s the Scepter of the Pious, which we believe is somewhere in the Malmalam Thicket,” Regis concludes.
“Three left, actually,” Cor says. “An expedition was dispatched to obtain the Scepter.”
“Wait, really?” Clarus says, sitting up a bit. “Did they succeed? Why weren’t we informed?”
“They did succeed,” Cor says. “It’s just not here yet. They’ve had it smuggled into their bedding for the last month as they make their way back.”
“You sent Nyx, Hemera and Libertus again,” Regis concludes, scowling. “Which, if I recall correctly, you were expressly forbidden from doing, and that’s why they’re hiding it in their bedding and continuing along their proper assignment instead of coming straight back here.”
Cor says nothing, his face neutral.
“Marshal Leonis.”
“Technically, I didn’t assign them anything, your Majesty,” Cor protests mildly, his expression stubborn and unchanging. “I noticed that they were heading to an area near the Malmalam Thicket on their regular assignment and happened to mention that there was a Tomb in the area that they ought to keep an eye out for, and to let me know if they managed to locate its exact coordinates so that I might visit it with greater ease next time. They messaged me with the information that they had gone in on their own initiative and obtained the Scepter.”
“And having met Nyx and Hemera Ulric more than once in your life, you knew that would happen,” Regis says, shaking his head. “Honestly, Cor…”
“Given the way we’re minimizing the number of people who know about the trips to obtain the Royal Arms, it’s not like I have many other people to ask,” Cor says sharply.
“You know that Drautos will formally complain if he finds out that you’ve been undermining him,” Clarus points out, trying to keep the peace by being logical. “Again. You do remember that he’s aware of the Prophecy now too, right? You could just ask him to borrow his soldiers.”
Cor shrugs. “He tends to say no.”
Regis and Clarus both sigh in unison.
“Jinx,” Cor says promptly.
They both look stricken for a moment, then they both glare at him. “There are no children in the room,” Clarus growls. “That doesn’t count.”
“Made you flinch, though,” Cor says, the faintest smile drifting about his lips, but it fades quickly enough. “I will make my apologies to Captain Drautos, if necessary.”
“You could just avoid undercutting him,” Regis says.
“My best attempts to work with him have generally not resulted in success,” Cor says, crossing his arms. “Either there have been urgent reassignments, or the expedition has gotten lost, or they’ve gotten attacked by Niflheim –”
“You can’t hold bad luck against the man,” Regis says. “He’s been making some excellent progress on the Leide front, regaining some of the lands back –”
“And then losing them again,” Cor says icily. “Leaving them twice as destroyed as they might have otherwise have been, and just in time for the harvest.”
“Your approach is just different,” Clarus says, holding up his hands when Cor glares at him. “He’s more aggressive – and yes, I know, shocking to even suggest it – but you just need to work with him –”
“I am working with him,” Cor says with gritted teeth. “We have multiple joint operations ongoing. However, his Kingsglaive have a tendency to be more – creatively independent, let’s say. This is a tendency which he encourages, and which is understandable in small team maneuvers of the sort that the Kingsglaive favors, but which is less effective when working with a larger institution like the Crownsguard.”
“But the Prophecy quests –”
“Are best conducted by small groups, I know, but he has consistently frustrated my efforts in that regard. For someone who is extremely aggressive in battle, he’s extremely cautious when it comes to dungeon-raiding -”
“Enough!” Regis snaps at a level that is not quite loud enough to be a roar, but is thinking about it. “I refuse to have this gossiping behind his back as if we were children. You will apologize to Captain Drautos, Cor, and –”
There’s a knock on the door.
Regis glares at it, but sighs. “Come in.”
The door opens and Scientia walks in.
Everyone straightens a little. Scientia was not pleased with Ignis returning covered in mud and traumatized from his forest adventure, but the internal investigation she is conducting abruptly went into high gear right around the same time and she hasn’t really had a chance to go off on all of them in the true depths that they know she's capable of – everyone has been assuming that their fate was postponed rather than averted.
And if she’s here, well, maybe the postponement wasn’t lasting much longer.
“Counsel Scientia, welcome,” Regis says, clearly opting for formality in the hopes that she’ll remember that he’s her monarch and that she shouldn’t rip his head off.
Clarus gives him a look indicating that he’s fooling no one, the coward.
“Your Majesty,” Scientia says, equally formal, inclining her head. “Minister, Marshal.”
“What’s wrong?” Cor asks abruptly.
“Wrong?” Clarus echoes. Cor knows Scientia best out of all of them, of course, but now that Clarus looks more closely, Scientia does seem unusually disordered – circles under her eyes, clothing even more severe than usual, lips pressed together. “Scientia?”
“The internal investigation has reached a number of conclusions that I thought it was best to convey to you at once, in person,” Scientia says neutrally. “Your Majesty, I would appreciate your putting up a shield for additional privacy.”
Regis waves a hand, and the four of them are encased in shimmering glass on all sides – above their heads, beneath their paws, and on each sides. “What have you discovered, Scientia?”
Scientia is silent for a long moment, most unlike her usual forthrightness. “I didn’t want to approach you until I’d reached a firm conclusion that I believed was supported by proof and could hold up in court,” she says. “That’s what’s been taking so long. But – I believe we’re there now.”
Clarus sits up even straighter. A magical shield for privacy – a disclaimer that her conclusions were even more unquestionable than usual – Scientia must have found something hotter than hot in her little investigation. “What have you found?”
“Yes, Scientia,” Regis says. “What have you found?”
She looks them all in the eye. “I’ve found the traitor in the Kingsglaive.”
Hemera pokes at Nyx.
Nyx tries to ignore her.
She pokes at him again, patient as only an irritating younger-by-three-minutes sister can be. She’ll get his attention in the end.
He’s being resistant.
She pokes him right in the ribs where she knows he’s ticklish.
Still nothing.
Oh yeah?
She goes for the tender part of his hindleg, right behind the knee.
He leaps a foot in the air, waving his hands frantically. Hemera laughs.
He turns and glares at her. “What is it, selena?” he signs at her. “I’m busy.”
“With paperwork,” Hemera points out, rolling her eyes. “It’s not due until tomorrow.”
“And if it’s not done by then, then I won’t be able to volunteer for the trip to the Disc of Cauthess,” Nyx replies. “For the you-know-what. And I want to go.”
“If you didn’t have five times as much paperwork as everyone else, it’d be easier.”
“I know,” Nyx grumbles. “I swear, Captain Drautos piles it up on me on purpose, especially before missions.”
“You don’t think he’s found out about – you know?”
“The Scepter?” Nyx signs back, using the made-up symbol they’ve been using between themselves and Libertus for it in case anyone who understood LSL – not that many people around the Kingsglaive – was listening. “Nah, I don’t think so. He just hates doing joint missions with the Crownsguard.”
Hemera shrugs. The rivalry between Marshal Leonis and Captain Drautos is supposedly very hush-hush and secret, which of course means that everyone knows about it. Though perhaps ‘rivalry’ isn’t the right word – Marshal Leonis is the commanding officer, everyone agrees on that, but Captain Drautos is much favored by a number of the conservative Councilors and he, and thus the Kingsglaive, get a lot of autonomy as a result. And that means, politically, Marshal Leonis has to tread lightly around him, which he does…sometimes.
Nyx’s head suddenly swivels away from Hemera.
“What is it?” she signs.
“Something’s happening in the main room. Let’s go.”
They go.
Everyone is crowded around the television.
Hemera makes her way forward, using her elbows and glares to get to the front where she can see the closed captioning.
Captain Drautos of the Kingsglaive Confined to Quarters Under Investigation.
Hemera’s eyebrows shoot up.
Holy crap.
She turns to look at the others.
“– something political going on here,” Luche is saying, his face fierce, his hooves scratching the floor and his small donkey tail swishing like he wishes he could mimic the felidaetaurs in puffing up. Ugh, Luche is such an ass – no pun intended. Okay, maybe a bit of a pun intended, but the guy’s lower half is literally a wild donkey, and anyway he deserves it. “Someone’s got it in for the Captain –”
“Right before a joint mission with the Crownsguard, too,” Axis adds, ugly look on his face. He sits back on his and crosses his arms. “You know, Marshal Leonis is Insomnia-born –”
“Yeah, and he’s Cor Leonis, the Immortal,” Libertus shoots back. “You might’ve heard of a Leonis Adoption right? Or any of those lawsuits he’s filed for refugee rights? You think he of all people would fuck around with Insomnia’s defense just because he doesn’t like immigrants? Or even just the Captain specifically?”
Axis hesitates – Marshal Leonis’ reputation is rather formidable – and Nyx takes the opportunity to say, “Besides, it’s not like the Captain’s being sentenced or thrown in jail or anything! It’s an investigation. That means they think they found something that’s gone wrong. He’ll have an opportunity to defend himself in court just like any other citizen of Lucis, and if they’re wrong, then they’re wrong.”
Hemera stamps her paw. “That’s how the process of justice works,” she signs, Nyx repeating it out loud for the benefit of those who don’t know LSL. “You remember, from the Charter of Lucis, all those rights and responsibilities you swore to uphold? You get the rights, you get the responsibility, and if the Captain’s done something wrong, then he’ll pay for it, same as anyone else.”
“What do they have on him, anyway?” Tredd demands, beating his rabbit’s foot against the floor in that extremely annoying way he tends to do when he is upset about something. “We ought to know.”
“If we don't know, then that means the indictment’s sealed. And if it's sealed, then it’s probably for a good reason,” Libertus says firmly. “It’s probably something sensitive, s’all. Like Nyx said, if they’re wrong, they’re wrong – it might just be a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Axis sneers. “I’m telling you, it’s a hatchet job –”
Hemera reaches out and slaps him. Not terribly hard, but with a flat palm, aimed to make a loud noise.
He stares at her.
“You are a Kingsglaive,” she signs, Nyx echoing her words. “You are sworn to protect Lucis and uphold the law of Lucis. You will not question an ongoing investigation without grounds to dispute it. The legal process must be respected.”
“Respected, hah! We’re not being respected,” Axis grumbles, but the other Kingsglaive around him are nodding.
“Ulric’s right,” Luche says, though he looks like he’s bitten into a lemon to say it. “We have to respect the system – even though it’s flawed –”
“Oh, come off it,” Libertus snorts. “Ain’t Captain Drautos the one who’s always going on about law and order being necessary to protect the hearth and home?”
“Says the Galahdian,” Tredd snaps. “Your home hasn’t been conquered the way so many of ours have been –”
“No, we were just nearly massacred,” Nyx shoots back. “Law and order – unless he was lying in all of those speeches, then respecting the rule of law is what the Captain would want us to do, and you know it. All of you! We’re Kingsglaive. Our loyalty is to Lucis – not to the Captain. Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” Luche says, holding his hands up for peace. “Yeah, it is.” He looks around the room with a fierce glare. “We’re going to keep doing what we’ve been doing, you got that, all of you? We’re going to carry on. Axis, Tredd, come with me; we’ll review the current assignment schedule and see what needs to be done.”
Hemera glares at Luche’s back as he strides out of the room, closely followed by the other two, and the other Kingsglaive disperse into little groups, all whispering frantically.
Nyx and Libertus join her. “I don’t like this,” she signs to them.
“I don’t either,” Libertus says. “What do you think would make them do something like this – and right before the royal family heads out to the Disc?”
“I don’t like that,” Hemera signs. “But what I meant is, I don’t like Luche being in charge.”
“He’s the Captain’s second-in-command, Hemera,” Nyx points out. “It’s only reasonable –”
“They shared everything,” Hemera signs. “If there’s something wrong with the Captain, there’s something wrong with Luche.”
“We don’t know that there is something wrong, Hemera,” Libertus objects. “It really could just be a misunderstanding – maybe even a frame-up, one of Niflheim’s plots –”
“No,” Hemera signs, shoving the sign in Libertus’ face. “Maybe everyone else doesn’t know, but we know.”
“What do you mean?” Nyx says sharply.
“You didn’t notice it,” she signs, “but on the screen, in small print, it said the name of the prosecuting officer of the court and, more importantly, the person who’s been heading up the investigation. The special counsel.”
“So?” Libertus asks, confused. “What does it matter who’s in charge of the investigation?”
“Because,” Hemera signs, jaw clenched, her belly tight with worry, “have you ever known Apollonia Scientia to be wrong?”
She can see by their suddenly pale faces that they've reached the same conclusion she has.
If Counsel Scientia is putting her reputation on the line, going back into prosecution years after she resigned in order to focus on civil matters, then that means she is absolutely and utterly convinced that something has gone very, very wrong. She wouldn’t have agreed to go public unless she was certain.
And if something really has gone wrong with the Captain –
Then that means something is rotten at the very heart of the Kingsglaive.
In Luna’s opinion, this is the gloomiest holiday trip she’s ever been on, even putting aside the fact that they’re secretly going to try to forge a Covenant with an Astral, and she’s been on holiday trips that involved her mother having to entertain unwanted guests from Niflheim, so she knows gloomy better than most.
It doesn’t help that both Cor and Cyrella, the only adults with them besides their fairly minimal Crownsguard escort, are in terrible moods.
Cor’s pissed off in a bone-deep, fundamental way that he usually only gets when he’s facing up to systemic injustice. He looks like he’s plotting a murder, and Cyrella looks like she might’ve committed a murder and is in the stages of covering it up.
The situation back home is – not good.
Captain Drautos’ arrest has been bad enough for morale, given that he was very popular with certain conservative ministers who immediately suggested that a misunderstanding (heavily implied to come from the Crownsguard under Cor’s more liberal leadership) had occurred, and many of the refugee and immigrant subgroups in the city immediately started worrying about what this might mean for the Kingsglaive, the most visible form of acceptance of the immigrant population.
King Regis quickly took steps to eliminate each issue. First, the ministers were brought in for a secret meeting in which they were made privy to certain private information, which satisfied many of them – the information sufficient to concern the ones who had honestly believed it was a mistake, and the privilege of being invited into the King’s confidence sufficient for ones who were mostly throwing around their weight for the sake of their ego.
Second, he decided to publicly demonstrate his continuing trust in the Kingsglaive by appointing them to take total control of Citadel security for a month due to Cor’s absence on an important (if unspecified and undated) mission, with the Crownsguard being positioned throughout the city instead.
Cor hadn’t liked that very much.
He liked it even less when, less than three days after Regis made the announcement, Niflheim sent its first communiqué in literally years to request permission to send a delegation of negotiators to discuss the possibility of a ceasefire treaty.
With negotiations proposed to be held during the upcoming Archead festival, aka, right at the same time that Cor was to travel with the children to the Disc of Cauthess to meet with the Archean.
Of course, Regis had no choice but to accept – even the remote possibility of an official ceasefire was far too tempting to refuse – but an official meeting between high level negotiators on each side, possibly including a member of the imperial family, maybe even the Emperor himself, meant that both Regis and Aulea would be obliged to be in Insomnia at the time, as well as Clarus, as Regis’ Shield and most trusted advisor.
Cyrella, as Clarus’ wife, would normally be expected to be there as well, but someone needed to go with the children, and so she was selected to go, over her protests that she felt like she was being sent away to be kept safe like a good little wife. Clarus’ argument that their trips to form the Covenants were far from what would be considered ‘safe’ was not really successful in appeasing her very much.
Luna rather thought Cyrella had a point, since if Niflheim were busy with the negotiations, they wouldn’t have time to interfere with the Covenant.
Still, no wonder they’re upset.
Luna’s upset.
The timing of the offer for negotiations – right after they arrested Drautos on what is eventually announced to be suspicion of treason, the details of which none of the adults agreed to share with her even though she’s fourteen already, and very mature, too – is very suspicious to her mind. If Drautos is a traitor, then that means that Niflheim knows what they’re trying to accomplish and still decided that they were going to oppose their efforts to literally save the world.
Which means, in Luna’s opinion, that the Empire is under the thumb of the Accursed. She isn’t sure exactly how, but she’s sure of it.
Aulea promised to keep her in the loop via a group chat on their phones, but it’s really not the same.
If only Scientia could be with them, Luna would feel better. Her foster mother is no fighter, but she’s the smartest person Luna’s ever met, with Iggy being a close second, and having her around would make Luna feel more secure. But she’s leading the investigation into Drautos, now publicly, and leaving the city might look suspicious.
Before they left, Scientia took Luna aside, put her hands on her cheeks and said to her, “My dear, if you get hurt on this trip – or worse, die – I will be extremely cross with you. Don’t do it.”
The memory makes Luna smile.
Her phone buzzes.
The delegations have arrived, Aulea says. Next step, boring speeches.
Luna shakes her head. That, at least, she doesn’t regret missing.
“Are we almost there?” Prompto asks from the front seat, where he has his head stuck out the window.
“Very close,” Cor says, reaching out and running a hand down his back, making Prompto wiggle happily.
“I don’t like how deserted it is,” Cyrella says, frowning out the window. She’s in the backseat playing a video game with Noctis, Ignis and Gladio, though it’s not her turn. “It’s the Archead, and this is the Disc – shouldn’t there be more people?”
“The Archead isn’t usually celebrated with the Archean,” Cor points out, though he doesn’t actually disagree. “It’s the holiday of rest from labor and political protests; his personage isn’t actually involved in the festivities the same way the other Astrals are.”
“Still, it seems unusually deserted to me,” Cyrella says stubbornly. “Aren’t picnics traditional around this time?”
“I’ve seen plenty of people out picnicking in the fields near the roads,” Luna offers.
“Fewer and fewer as we get closer to the Disc, though,” Ignis says. “I think Ms. Amicitia has a point.”
Cor hums a little.
“Care to share your thoughts, Marshal?” Cyrella says archly.
“I think that Niflheim has stationed guards around the entrance to the Disc,” Cor says.
That gets everyone’s attention.
“You do?” Noctis asks, looking worried. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s a reasonable deduction,” Cor says. “Also, if you look down the road ahead, you can just see the bulk of their airships over the gateway.”
“Oh no!” Luna says, leaning forward and squinting – Cor’s right, she can just barely make them out. There’s a perimeter set up in front of the entranceway to the Disc, but she assumed those were Duscae troops, not the empire. “How will we get past? Can we get past, or will we have to turn back?”
“I don’t want to turn back,” Gladio complains. “We’ve come all this way –”
“We may not have a choice,” Cyrella says, scowling. She can see them too. “Cor?”
“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding unconcerned. “I bought a ticket.”
“A ticket?! Cor!”
“There are tours,” he assures them.
Luna is half-convinced that the Immortal has somehow lost it at last, but when they arrive, sure enough, there’s a handful of cars in line to get in, including the other two cars filled with plains-clothed Crownsguard, and the extremely bored-looking Niflheim guards barely give them a second glance as they stamp the ticket and let them through the gate.
“Well, that was surprisingly easy,” Noctis says, blinking a bit.
“No kidding,” Prompto says. “Too easy.”
“It was too easy,” Cor says dryly. “The problem will be getting out again.”
“Oooooooh,” all the children chorus.
“The Crownsguard have orders to do their best to secure us an exit,” Cor says, parking the car. “Otherwise, we may need to get creative.”
Luna’s phone buzzes again, as does Cyrella’s – must be Aulea’s group chat.
Ugh, it says. This is frankly absurd.
Luna frowns at it.
Cyrella’s already typing what is going on into her phone. She’s not a great phone typer, painfully pecking in the letters one by one.
The chancellor of Niflheim seems determined to make an ass out of himself.
Luna snorts.
“What’s it say?” Noctis asks, trying to look.
“No!” Luna says quickly, covering the screen. “You’re eight.”
“I’m nearly nine! It’s only another month!”
“Still no!”
“I’m eleven,” Gladio says. “Can I see?”
“No, and that’s final,” Luna says firmly.
Gladio shrugs. “Mom, can I see?”
“Ask me again when Luna’s not around, dear.”
Luna rolls her eyes and peeks back at her phone, which has continued buzzing with Aulea’s messages.
No, really.
He walks in here with, as far as I can tell, a giant bird shield on his arm – no joke – and he immediately starts in with the sarcasm, which is utterly inappropriate for an envoy.
Well, he said that Niflheim has always wanted peace so I am assuming sarcasm.
He could be delusional, though. Who knows?
Also, he’s a leopard ‘taur and he’s wearing spats. Luna, is there any possibility that this is the man you saw on Noctis’ birthday?
There’s a photograph.
Red hair, red-purple scarf, grey-white jacket, pinstripes, spats…
Yes, Luna types back, hands shaking a little. He’s the one.
I see. Good to know.
A moment of silence.
Hmmm.
Well, that’s not promising.
Hmmm what, Cyrella types.
The delusional theory just earned slightly more credibility: he just proposed that we surrender all of the existing territory of Lucis in exchange for Insomnia.
Cyrella growls, deep in her throat.
“Mom! Tell me what’s happening!” Gladio demands.
“Not now,” Cor says sternly. “We focus on the Archean. Cyrella and Luna will let us all know what’s going on when they have a moment. Now, please watch your footing; we’re heading down to the viewing point now.”
You told him to go fuck himself right, Cyrella types back.
No, we’re still in listening mode. He also wants there to be a formal marriage to seal the deal.
Noctis is eight; what can he possibly be thinking, Luna types in angrily. Her hands aren’t shaking any more. Who is he supposed to marry?
You, actually, Aulea types back. There’s a smiley face involved; she’s clearly moved from annoyance to amusement. In your role as the Princess of Tenebrae, which itself is a protectorate of the Empire.
…does he not realize that I’m not actually in Tenebrae right now?
Nothing for a long moment.
Yes, Aulea types. I assume he does, as he just informed us that they sent an invasion force to secure Fenestela Manor.
“They what?!” Luna exclaims, rearing back a bit. Her mother is there – her brother –
Everyone is fine, Aulea types. We insisted on confirming that at once. They’re under occupation, but they’re fine. Sylvia is enraged beyond all imagination; she’s already talking about the consequences of this from a governing perspective. Niflheim seems to have stopped caring.
“That’s not good,” Cyrella murmurs, and texts back, that’s bad.
No kidding.
Okay, we’re back on the subject of marriage. The Chancellor is implying that we know where you are, which of course we do, and he says that Niflheim want the marriage to take place somewhere where they can “confirm” that we’re not “mistreating” you.
He’s really quite intolerable.
Help me, I’m starting to find it charming.
Wait, holy crap.
Luna waits, but nothing follows for a moment. She and Cyrella exchange looks.
What happened? Luna types.
I believe – since the evidence of my own ears suggests it – that Counsel Scientia just implied that the Chancellor was a pedophile. To his face. On the basis that there would be no other reason for him to be interested in marrying off an eight year old and a fourteen year old.
Luna chokes.
Cyrella groans.
He’s on the defensive now, saying that it’s a marriage of state, no consummation necessary, etc.
Oh dear.
I think that was a pun about erectile dysfunction that Scientia just responded with, but I’m not sure since it was so politely phrased.
Luna, your foster mom is BRUTAL and I think your other mom – watching via video set up – just swooned.
Luna grins. Scientia has been having regular calls with Sylvia ever since Luna first came to live with her, nearly four years ago now, but those calls all centered around Luna, and while Luna’s tried to explain something of Scientia’s character to Sylvia, there’s nothing quite like watching Scientia take someone down in person. Or, well, by video.
The Chancellor is increasingly put out, Aulea types. Our turn for speeches now, so I’m going to stop texting. Nothing important will be decided now, anyway – the most we’ve agreed on is to move on to the fancy party portion of the proceedings now. Good luck with the Archean.
Luna puts away her phone and looks up. While she wasn’t paying attention, they’ve gotten almost all of the way to the viewing point, where there is –
“Is that a tomb?” she asks. “Right in the middle of the Disc’s viewing point?”
“Tomb of the Mystic,” Cor confirms, sounding amused. “Apparently, also a big fan of tourism.”
The kids laugh.
“Noctis, you go absorb the mace,” Cor instructs. “I didn’t want to get this one earlier, since its absence would have been noticed quicker than the rest, but there’s clearly no point in further concealment if Niflheim knows about our goal, so we should go ahead and grab it.”
Noctis nods, his face turning determined.
“I’ll watch your back, Noct,” Gladio says, reaching out and putting a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. Noctis smiles at him and the two of them approach the Tomb of the Mystic.
“Luna, why don’t you come with me to try to awaken the Archean – if you think you can do it from here?” Cyrella suggests.
Luna nods. “I can try,” she says. “Iggy…?”
“I’ll come with you,” he says immediately, trotting to her side. “I know how much summoning takes out of you.”
Luna smiles at him and the three of them go to the other side of the viewing point, the higher part where there’s a better view of the massive form of Titan, asleep beneath the Great Meteor.
Prompto stays behind with Cor, who’s keeping an eye out all around to make sure no one sneaks up behind them and also keeping an eye on Noctis and Gladio, who are pulling the Blade of the Mystic off of the Tomb for Noctis to absorb.
Luna turns her attention to Titan, lifting her hands and summoning her Oracle’s magic. “Titan –” she starts, and then stops, suddenly staggering.
“Luna!” Iggy exclaims.
“Luna, what’s wrong?” Cyrella says.
Luna clutches at her head. “He’s not asleep,” she whimpers. “He’s already awake – and he’s angry!”
There’s a terrible cracking sound, and they all spin around just in time to see the ground of the viewing point, where thousands of tourists have been before, split into a thousand pieces and tumble forward in a dreadful collapse –
Including the portion with Noctis and Gladio.
“No!” Cyrella screams. “Gladiolus!”
Raised by a noble family in Insomnia, Aulea is a master of the boring dinner party.
This particular party, although more lavish than any before it, is no different than entertaining a set of nobles with a grudge against her family, armed with poisonous smiles and seeking gossip designed to bring her down; she put up with hundreds of them before she married Regis, and she's put up with hundreds more since.
She’s used to all sorts of wickedness: when she was nothing more than one of Regis’ neighbors, merely one girl out of several dozen that he might one day be inclined to marry and no one yet knew about the games they would play by letter when there was no other way for it, there were nasty rumors, and innuendos, and even blackmail and bribes and more.
A dinner party with the infinitely more powerful and threatening Empire?
Compared to vying for marriage, this is nothing.
Aulea smiles dazzlingly at several of the ambassadors and spins off towards the refreshments table, where she pours herself a glass of sparkling punch.
“A lovely lady such as yourself should not be left alone,” an oil-slick voice purrs from beside her.
“Chancellor,” she says, turning unhurriedly with a smile that is truly genuine – a fact that seems to take him aback. She’d say he was a snake, but ever since little Ignis obtained his pet constrictor Triste, she hasn’t really been able to use that comparison in a negative fashion: Chancellor Ardyn Izunia has far too many teeth to be a snake, and none of their more kindly dispositions. No: a shark, or some sort of vicious creature with far too many mouths. “You are too kind.”
He smiles, slimy and overly familiar, his composure restored. “Not at all. I have always been curious as to the quality of the Queen of such a brave nation: it is the mothers that form the character, they say.”
Aulea arches her eyebrows. “An interesting choice of words,” she says. “And a very old one, too – parenting is far more equitable in our kingdom these days. Is it different in the Empire?”
Ardyn pulls off that hat of his in a courtly bow – also very old-fashioned, she notes to herself; how curious! “I wouldn’t know,” he says. “Not being mated myself. I remain – without issue.”
“And you so charming,” she says ironically, letting him see the glimmers of humor beneath her sarcasm. Without issue indeed! She’d wager he has plenty of issues. “I can scarcely believe it.”
He straightens, looking again surprised for the briefest of moments. “You know,” he says slowly, “I rather think I like you?”
She grins at him, a real one, unable to resist the wicked urge. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”
He laughs. "No, I wasn't," he admits freely. "I thought of you – not at all, I must admit. But now that I have met you, I'm amazed your husband lets you go alone without him."
"He hardly lets me do anything," Aulea says tartly. "And at any rate, he's talking to your Emperor – a worthy task, wouldn't you say?"
"Indeed, indeed," Izunia chuckles. "Oh, lady – your son must be a marvel indeed." His eyes glitter. "A pity he can't come down to meet us. Tell me, I hope he is not too ill?"
Aulea studies him – looks at those too-bright eyes, clearly hiding something; thinks of the way that he murmured in the ear of his emperor during the speeches and negotiations of earlier that day, and the weight that those murmurs had on the shape of the negotiations – and decides not to bother with the pretense they put about earlier. She has the feeling that Chancellor Izunia is too clever to be taken in – and at any rate, she suspects he knows exactly where Noctis is right now.
What she doesn't know, therefore, is why, if he knows that, he's choosing to be here, instead.
Something she’ll have to find out.
"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," she says lightly, putting her punch down on the table and extending a hand towards him. "Very well."
"Very well?" he echoes, widening his eyes a little in artificial question.
"You were about to ask me if I would do you the honor of a dance," she says. "I am going to preempt you and say yes. Shall we?"
He laughs and puts her hand on his arm, leading her out to the dance floor. He's quite elegant, although his cadence is not quite right for what she's accustomed to seeing from a leopard 'taur –
She's not sure what makes her think of it. Perhaps it's his old-fashioned ways, making her think of old-fashioned things long gone out of style. It'd be rude to ask, of course, but then he seems to have enjoyed her light gestures towards rudeness up until now.
No harm in trying.
"My dear Chancellor," she says as they step forward in time together, forepaws held straight as they dip and turn and spin around each other, "you really are quite striking – is that some lion I detect in your ancestry?"
It's a shot in the dark, but then – she's always had excellent aim.
His eyes glitter with an ancient fury, and for the briefest moment she fancies that his eyes are black where they should be white, and his irises sickly gold instead of hazel; but he regains mastery of himself quickly. "Indeed you do, my dear," he purrs. "Rude of you to ask, you know, but you detect quite correctly – quite a bit, in fact –"
She lets him change the subject, going back to the evidently safer cut and thrust of politics, and while she smiles and parries, her mind goes instead to the rest of the evening, and how early she can retire for bed, and whether she'll be able to find and convince Scientia to retire early as well. Cyrella would be better for this, being the mistress of the library, but Scientia will do just as well for the research project that she has in mind.
Surely, somewhere in the archives of all the research they've done while digging into the old Kings and Queens of Lucis, looking for the locations of the Royal Arms, they'll have what she seeks –
Long ago, before the rediscovery of genetic testing, before the discovery of 'taur genetic drift, back when mixed-species marriage was discouraged and children of differing phenotypes seen to automatically signify infidelity rather than merely a quirk of fate –
Back when being born different was grounds for suspicion, maybe even disinheritance –
She rather thinks she’ll find a leopard.
A leopard, born to that great and mighty line of lions – the Lucis Caelums.
If Luna's suspicions are right and you are indeed the Accursed that we seek, Chancellor, Aulea thinks, smile still firmly on her lips, I think you will find that you have a ways yet to go if you think I will let you anywhere near my son!
Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)
Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.
(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)
“This is the weirdest trip I’ve ever been on,” Nyx says thoughtfully, not for the first time.
“Shut the fuck up, you whiny bastard,” Hemera signs cheerfully back at him. "I'm the one stuck with three dumb guys."
“You do know that I understand LSL, right?” Cor asks mildly, hands casually forming the signs as he speaks.
Hemera turns bright red, which is her own damn fault for underestimating the Marshal of the Crownsguard. Nyx sticks his tongue out at her when he thinks Cor isn't looking.
“How did I end up with you three again?” Cor asks the air, even though they know for a fact that he already knows the answer. “You can channel the king’s magic – you’re Kingsguard, or whatever it is they’re calling that new division.”
“Kingsglaive,” Libertus replies with a hearty chuckle, though in fairness as a bear 'taur everything he does sounds hearty. “And you know that very well. You just don’t like Captain Drautos!”
Cor snorts. “Hearth and home,” he says. His voice is level and calm, considering, but Nyx is still able to detect the slightest hint of mockery. “That’s a hell of a motto.”
“What’s the Crownsguard motto?” Hemera asks. “And you know you don’t need to sign; I read lips.”
“It’s good for me to get back into practice, but I’m happy to stop if you’d prefer,” Cor says. “I sometimes fail to look at people while I’m speaking to them – an old habit I’m continuously trying to break.”
“I appreciate it, then,” Hemera signs. “You’re remarkably good at keeping up with yourself simultaneously.”
“I try,” he signs at her, then says aloud to the others. “And in answer to your question, the Crownsguard has no motto.”
“Really?” Libertus asks. “Why not?”
“Because it’s our job and we know what we’re doing, so we don’t need to be preached to while we do it?” Cor suggests archly.
Hemera laughs.
Nyx is grinning. He likes the Marshal a lot. He almost wishes he was part of the Crownsguard instead of the Kingsglaive – not really, because using magic is amazing. Hemera likes to joke that Nyx would travel everywhere by warp if he could, which is totally not true.
Okay, it’s a little bit true.
But seriously, Nyx can literally light fires with his hands. How is that not awesome in every possible respect?
“Levity aside, the Crownsguard doesn’t have a motto because it used to be the Lucian army,” Cor says. “The entirety of the armed forces of Lucis, so there was no need for a separate motto. Some decades before I was born, the Crownsguard was converted into a purely defensive force instead of an offensive force, in part because Lucis doesn’t believe in conquest but mostly because we were – are – losing. The war with Niflheim is a matter of preventing attrition, not of winning, and we all know it. The idea of some –” Here his nose wrinkled. “– some sort of rabble-rousing slogan just seemed, and still seems, somehow…inappropriate.”
Libertus snorts. “Yeah, tell us what you really think.”
“If it makes people feel better, then what’s wrong with it?” Hemera signs.
Nyx rolls his eyes. They’re both clearly just goading Cor now.
Cor knows it, too; he makes a face at them. He huffs. “Hearth and home,” he says, and shakes his head. “Honestly, all this emphasis on home – tell me, your Captain does realize that we’re increasingly a nation of immigrants, right? Refugees? I understand wanting to emphasize loyalty to the concept of ‘home’ and then presumably associating that loyalty with Insomnia, but for quite a lot of people, Insomnia’s where they’re staying, not what they think of as their home. I don’t see how that’s going to accomplish anything other than making people even more homesick than they already are –”
“I like it,” Libertus says cheerfully. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“So do advertising jingles,” Cor says in a deeply aggravated tone of voice. “Anything can have a ring to it. You don’t hear me saying, ‘Come join the Crownsguard, where you’re likely to get charred’.”
Nyx, Libertus and Hemera all burst out laughing.
“Give me a break, not much rhymes with ‘guard,’” Cor complains.
“No, that’s amazing,” Nyx chokes out. “I love it. I love it. I'd sign up in the space of two heartbeats. Do another one.”
“You’ll learn to be defiant,” Cor muses, “when you’re fighting an Iron Giant…”
“Please stop,” Libertus wheezes.
“Welcome to Insomnia,” Nyx giggles. “Where you see strange phenomena.”
“Come guard the Kingdom of Lucis,” Libertus says. “Where you – where you –”
“End up in an oceanic abyss?” Cor suggests mildly.
Hemera is actually crying.
Actually, Nyx might be, too. He’s having trouble breathing.
He really hopes they don’t get attacked by daemons right now. It would be such an embarrassing way to die.
Libertus has actually plopped down on his big bear hindquarters to laugh better, clutching at his belly.
Cor smirks at them. “Well, at least I get to rob him of you three for a bit,” he says cheerfully, and that backhanded compliment gets them all glowing all the way to the next rest stop, three hours later.
Sure, Nyx knows they’re only involved in this mission because the number of people that know about the whole Prophecy business is basically a dozen and the bunch that are in the Crownsguard are needed elsewhere right now – he only knows about it because Gladio accidentally let something slip and then everyone assumed that they knew more than they seemed to know and at any rate Nyx wasn’t turning down an invitation to go back and join the Crownsguard in Insomnia proper when it involved helping found a brand new magic-centric fighting force – but it’s still pretty cool to be involved, even if they are only on the Marshal’s team because he’s capable of babysitting them and accomplishing the mission regardless.
It doesn’t matter. They’re going tomb-raiding. For real. This is the most awesome thing that’s happened to Nyx, well, ever.
Next to magic, anyway.
And to think he thought that his eighteenth birthday would be boring.
“Say, it is your birthday, ain’t it?” Libertus says when they’re setting up camp.
Nyx elbows him sharply, but it’s too late: Cor looks up from where he’s sharpening his sword with interest.
“Birthdays, huh?”
“Uh, yeah,” Nyx says. “No biggie – Hemera and me having birthdays – obviously it’s both of our birthdays, because we’re twins – and – yeah –”
Hemera groans and drops her head against Libertus’ shoulder in a pantomime of dismay.
“You’re an amazingly awful liar,” Cor observes, sounding amused. “What are you trying to hide?”
“We-ell, it just, you know – it’s a birthday,” Nyx hedges.
Hemera reaches over and taps Cor’s shoulder for attention. When he looks at her, she signs, “We’re turning eighteen. The official age for joining the Kingsglaive is, by coincidence, also eighteen.”
Cor snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s the age for joining the Crownsguard, too; had to break poor little Crowe’s hearts.”
“I liked her,” Libertus says. They met briefly, back in Galahd, when they were cleaning up after the invasion attempt and the King was pulling in additional people from Lucis to help set up additional defenses. There’d been a whole investigation into how Niflheim got so close and what happened during the invasion, and he’d ended up sitting next to her in a waiting room, both of them waiting to give their testimony about what they’d seen. Libertus all but adopted her on sight.
Nyx approves, mostly because Libertus’ parents are dead and his having promised Crowe updates on the development of the Kingsglaive means Libertus has someone to write letters to back in Galahd along with the rest of them.
Crowe’s parents are being very nice about the whole thing. They even send Libertus care packages sometimes.
Actually, now that Nyx thinks about it, he's not sure who adopted who in this scenario here...
“Crowe's a good kid,” he offers, making Libertus smile, and then he glances worriedly at Cor. “The whole eighteen-year-old thing…is that, uh, going to be an issue, or…”
“I joined Crownsguard at thirteen, you know,” Cor says.
They blink at him.
“I thought that was just a legend,” Libertus says blankly. “Y'know, part of the whole Immortal reputation thing.”
Cor makes a face. He does not overly enjoy being called the Immortal; Nyx always thought he must like it, because it’s basically the most awesome nickname ever, but it’s become pretty clear after a very short time of knowing the man in person that Cor can barely stand the nickname and only allows people to use it because it helps overall morale. “No, that part’s accurate. A surprising amount of the stories about me are accurate, sad to say. Though anything about me being able to fly or shoot lasers out of my eyes is total crap; putting that out there now.”
“Thirteen, though?” Hemera signs. “Was that before they put an age limit on the Crownsguard?”
“No. It was still eighteen back then.”
“Then, how…?”
“I lied about my age.”
Now they’re really all staring at him. Cor doesn’t exactly look…old.
To say the least.
“I didn’t say it was a good lie,” he says dryly. “You didn’t wonder how I ended up Marshal of the Crownsguard at my age?”
“How old are you?” Nyx asks, mentally revising his original guess – mid-40s, but actually immortal due to drinking the blood of virgins (?) and therefore looking much younger – significantly downwards.
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“You’re only ten years older than us?” Nyx squawks. His revisions hadn’t been downwards enough.
“Don’t you have a six-year-old kid or something?” Libertus asks, sounding equally befuddled.
“Old,” Hemera signs, shaking her head mournfully. “So old.”
“Just for that, you’re helping me with the next birthday party for my kid,” Cor says mildly. “Start being afraid now, it’ll save time.”
That didn’t sound promising.
“Go to sleep,” Cor continues. “I’ll take first shift. We’ll pick up the Shield of the Just tomorrow.”
They do pick it up.
Cor also somehow manages to find a tavern that serves Tenebrean whiskey and sweet-talks the owner into giving them two bottles of it in celebration of Nyx and Hemera’s birthday, which is awesome.
Even if Nyx is nursing that hangover all the way back to Insomnia.
Luna has tried on what feels like every dress in her closet.
She looks best in white, in her opinion, and she has a dozen dresses in that color: short dresses, tiered dresses, dresses with sashes, dresses with cut-outs, formal dresses, cocktail dresses, casual dresses…
Really, she’s being ridiculous. It’s not like she’s dressing up for a ball or anything – that, at least, I have some experience with, she thinks wryly to herself – and it’s not like anyone’s going to look at her twice, not really.
It’s just Noctis’ seventh birthday party, after all. It’s not like anyone will notice.
Luna smooths down her favorite white dress, the one with the three tiers and the cap sleeves: it suits her, the white is just right for her skin, but does it make her look too young?
It’s just Noctis’ birthday party. At Wiz’s Chocobo Post, no less – feathers and dirt and everything. Terrible idea to wear a white dress.
But white looks best on her.
And Cindy did say she looked pretty in it, last time they met…
Luna puts her hands on her cheeks, which have suddenly gone all hot.
Okay, she’s being ridiculous. She doesn’t even know for sure that Cindy’s coming. And at any rate, just because they’ve been exchanging letters – quite often, even – doesn’t actually mean anything. After all, Luna’s also pen-pals with Crowe over in Galahd, and that certainly doesn’t signify anything in particular because then she might feel bad about being pen-pals with two people and that would just be silly, of course, because they’re just pen-pals and –
And anyway, Cindy’s nearly fifteen, and Luna’s only twelve.
She probably won’t even notice what Luna’s wearing.
…she’ll wear the white dress. Just in case.
Aulea drives them to the Chocobo Post – she’s incognito, technically, they all are, grinning wildly and wearing caps pulled down low, but of course there’s a whole lot of Crownsguard there as well. Kingsglaive, too – all very dashing in their own ways, really, those outfits with all the black and silver.
Crowe wants to be a Crownsguard.
Should she be thinking of Crowe now?
You don’t even know if Cindy is going to be there, Luna lectures herself. Stop being ridiculous.
King Regis and Clarus, as his Shield and most important advisor, have to stay back and take care of the business of royalty – Luna distinctly remembers all of her mother’s well-meant but hideously boring lectures on the subject, and her tutors like to discuss it at length as well – but that’s probably for the best: people won’t be as suspicious as they might be if the entire royal family went out, the way they did to go to Galahd.
Luna supposes that’s why they’re waiting, really, before trying the next Astral: time to let the rumors die down, since no one was supposed to know about the familial trip but now everyone does, and also to calm everyone’s nerves.
Scientia told Luna that she did well, and baked her a cake of her favorite flavor, and spent three days yelling (speaking sternly, really, since Apollonia Scientia does not Yell, officially) at people for messing up all of her cases while she was gone.
Luna still feels warm and fuzzy about how worried Scientia had been about her.
Cor has gone out a few times to look for the Royal Arms, in some instances more successfully than others, but it has largely been quiet. And that means, of course, that it's time for a party.
Wiz’s Chocobo Post is the same as ever, and all four of the boys are positively mad with excitement: none more than Prompto, of course, with his wagging tail and his Chocobo-colored fluff that he’s shedding on everything, but Noctis and Gladio and even the normally self-controlled Ignis are practically bouncing off the walls of the car.
She suspects them of having indulged in illicit pre-trip birthday candy, but none of them are admitting anything.
Aulea and Cyrella get out of the car, the long slinky dark red leather front seats designed to let a ‘taur rest their hindquarters folding down to let the kids out from the back. They look mildly traumatized.
Cor gets off of his motorbike – also with a long leather seat, though this one is black – with a smirk.
Luna thinks she may have identified the source of the candy.
There’s already plenty of people at the Chocobo Post – Crownsguard and Kingsglaive in civilian clothing, of course, but also regular people because even Noctis’ birthday party with all of his friends from school isn’t enough to take up more than a quarter of the Post. It’s a nice, brisk day, very sunny with only a handful of clouds – perfect weather, really. People are everywhere: sitting at the tables, cheering at the fences by the Chocobo racetrack, waiting in line for tours of the stables – everywhere.
There’s a ‘taur remarkable primarily because he’s not moving, just standing there near the main administrative building. He’s a leopard ‘taur with reddish hair, rendered almost purple in shade by his choice of sash of very nearly the same color, red-and-gold, and he’s wearing a black coat with grey designs that doesn’t hide the fact that he’s wearing a pinstripe vest underneath.
He even has spats on his paws.
It’s not that his outfit’s unusual for the lovely autumn weather – okay, the spats are a bit much, but that’s applicable in any weather – it’s that he’s just…standing there, motionless. Scanning the crowd, watching everyone around him with a faint smirk playing over his lips.
Luna’s not sure why her eyes are lingering on him.
There’s something there –
Some shadow –
“Hey, bambi girl!” a warm voice, thickly accented with a drawl, says from right behind her. “Don’t you look a pretty sight!”
“Cindy!” Luna exclaims, turning around to throw her arms around Cindy’s neck, forgetting at once about the strange ‘taur lingering and staring. “You came!”
“Of course I came,” Cindy says, hugging Luna back tightly. Her skin is very warm. There’s a lot of it – she’s wearing a pretty yellow jacket and a bright red hat, something red to match peeking out from under the jacket and a worker's belt slung low over her jackrabbit hindquarters, and that’s about all. It’s a look only Cindy could pull off. “You said you were coming, didn’t you? You don’t think I’d miss a chance to see my best pen-pal, would I?”
“Oh,” Luna says, smiling. Her cheeks are red, she just knows it. “Oh – yes. And there’s Noctis, of course.”
“Sure thing,” Cindy laughs. “I got him a racecar – you think he’ll like that?”
“A toy racecar?”
“No – a little one, like a scooter. It's the big ol' box over on the table, with the red cactaurs on it.”
“He’ll love it,” Luna says, absolutely certain. “He’ll love it so much that his dad might try to throw swords at you.”
“Like ol’ grandpappy would let him,” Cindy says. She loops an arm through Luna’s. “C’mon, bambi girl; let’s go try our luck betting the races.”
“Oh, yes,” Luna, who never previously realized how very interested in gambling she is, says. “Let’s go.”
It's only later that she remembers the strange ‘taur, and looks for him, but by then he's gone.
The birthday party is fun – not lovely, not elegant, not anything like Luna's own birthday parties back in Tenebrae, where the occasion would be celebrated by a solemn prayer ceremony with beautiful choirs singing out prayers of thanksgiving, and the candles for her age would be lit on the altar by her mother, and then of course there would be a formal event in the evening, held under her namesake moon if possible, a ball which would have no dancing but required uncomfortably starched dresses. Luna always thought the ceremonies were terribly beautiful, if rather different from what they showed on television.
Her last birthday here in Lucis was...different. Her usual alarm was turned off, enabling her to sleep wonderfully late, and she was woken up instead when Scientia and Ignis came into her room with a tray of her favorite sweets – first thing in the morning! – and a small cheesecake in the shape of a crescent moon, all lined with candles. They sang happy birthday to her, and then insisted she go back to bed for another hour. She spent midday on the phone with her mother and Ravus, each of them wishing her a good year to come – Ravus made some rather uncalled for comments about Lucis, and King Regis in specific, stealing her away, the way he always did, but Luna gently reminded him that it was her birthday and he stopped well before making her cry like he sometimes did – and then she was whisked off to the celebrations: a visit to a laser tag arena with all of her favorite classmates, and then a film in the theaters (a real stinker, as it happened, but one that was so-bad-it's-good) and then dinner back at home, where they all sang happy birthday again and gave her all sorts of presents and cheered as she opened each one, and then most of them went home except for her absolute favorites who stayed for a sleepover involving truth-or-dare and gossip about everyone else in the world.
Not beautiful, not elegant, but so much fun that Luna found herself quietly crying in the middle of the night because she ought to be missing her home, missing her mother and her brother and everything, and she did, honest, but sometimes, on days like today, she didn't really feel like she missed them as much as she should.
Gentiana ended up climbing into bed with her and wrapping her arms around her until Luna felt better, or at least cried out.
At least she has Gentiana, who may not always understand, but who is always there to sympathize.
And luckily, Noctis' birthday seems unlikely to end in tears: they take a tour of the Chocobo stables, then everyone is allowed to help feed and brush down the Chocobos, and then they're even allowed to ride them bareback, curling their hindquarters side-saddle around the chocobo's neck and holding on tight.
Luna personally prefers to use a proper saddle – a nice extended one, with a nice basket to fold up your hindquarters and sit in, but the children are ecstatic.
It’s a good day.
At least, it’s a good day at first.
It is during the Chocobo ride that they attack.
Daemons, dozens of them, spilling out from the surrounding forest – proper daemons, too, not modified beasts, even though it’s daytime and the sunlight scorches their skin into sizzling smoke even as they attack.
Luna screams. She's not the only one.
The Chocobos scatter wildly.
Luna manages to steer hers over to the stable and leaps off, looking for something she can do – anything – and Cindy catches up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“You stay next to me, bambi girl,” Cindy instructs. She’s pulled a gun out of one of the pouches attached to her belt, a deadly-looking thing, and when she sees Luna looking at it, she pulls out a second one, smaller, and offers it up.
Luna stares at it. It’s not that she hasn’t had training in self-defense, a little bit of martial arts here, some sword-fighting there, and the very basics of shooting; it’s just that she’s never really much liked that sort of thing – she prefers reading to physical exertion, and begs her way out of extra training as much as possible.
She knew her people were at war, she knew that she one day might be called upon to join that war, she knew that she had already been called upon for gigantic battles with the Astrals and the Royal Arms and, eventually, the Accursed, but somehow she hadn’t put it together with those awful physical education classes and realized that not training her body would mean that she is absolutely useless in a fight.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Cindy says, reaching out and wiping away one of the tears of frustration that are starting to well up in Luna’s eyes. “I don’t much like shooting neither. Just take it and keep ‘er close, so that you can hold off anything that comes at you, okay?”
Luna nods, and takes the gun.
The Crownsguard is there, though, and the Kingsglaive, and of course they have Cor, and Aulea, and even Cyrella, though obviously she’s keeping back to guard baby Iris, but there’s so many daemons everywhere, coming all at once, smoking and sizzling and making terrible sounds, and it feels like it lasts forever, but it’s actually only about ten or fifteen minutes or so by the clock when the noise all starts to die down and all the daemons are dead.
